The Perfect Storm
by webgeekist
Summary: It's not about the damage the storm does to the sunlight.  It's about the damage done to her world when that light is blocked out.
1. The East Wall

_I've been writing fanfiction for a loooong time. I jump from subject to subject, or more specifically relationship to relationship. When I was younger and in college, I wrote a lot more than I do now. Back then, this place didn't exist. Now I hardly ever write anything unless it's an attempt to eliminate the frustration and distraction of an unsatisfying end of some kind. If it gets so bad that I feel compelled to write, it's something I just need to get out of my system so that I could resume my regularly scheduled life._

_It's the character relationships that sucker me back in. Castle has a lot of excellent characters, which is what's had me watching since the beginning. But with every show or game or movie or whatever I've written fanfiction for, there's always been this one blasted moment that sets my mind on fire and consumes me for days. Or weeks. Or months. And yes, sometimes even years._

_For Castle, that moment lasted an hour. The writers named it "Knockdown"._

_I need to get over my Castle obsession quickly. I have way too many deadlines to meet to be so terminally distracted._

* * *

**Chapter 1: The East Wall**

* * *

The life of a cop is treacherous. They wear vests and carry radiation detectors and are constantly connected to a form of communication. They get yelled at, swung at, stabbed at and shot at. Even the good ones can find themselves in unexpectedly dangerous situations with unintentionally deadly results. Sometimes, it's the very drive to solve a case that drops the detectives working them. Kate Beckett is driven by her need to solve cases. And she's very, very good at solving cases.

Roy Montgomery had never seen a cop like her before. No, that wasn't true - He'd seen cops with her tenacity and drive, with an unwavering dedication to the cause of a partner's murder, or a son's kidnapping, or a sister's rape. In a world where terrible things happened to people every day, cops were not exempt, and they needed answers like everyone else.

What Montgomery had never seen before was a cop that survived their obsession. Obsessed cops got reckless, or careless, or stupid. Then they got dead.

He knew Beckett's record, had analyzed it hundreds of times. The truth was, he second-guessed himself about her all the time. It wasn't because he didn't believe in her – on the contrary, Beckett was the _only_ detective he'd ever worked with that he felt he could truly believe in – but because every cop had their weak spot, and he knew he had to figure out what it was before she did. That moment of recognition, for her, would come a second before too late.

Beckett's weak spot _should have been_ her mother's unsolved murder, and for the first few years it looked like it would be. She withdrew into the case, pursued it recklessly. It was her training officer that kept her alive, that kept her reasonably grounded. Somehow, Mike Royce had guided her to a balance few officers would ever strike between their own need for retribution and the dangers of their job.

He watched for the warning signs. He watched for triggers. He knew when to watch because he made it a habit to study his detectives. And over the last year, despite teetering a little when her mother's case reared its ugly unsolved head again, she'd managed to stay mostly grounded, guarded, and in control.

But there had been a time when that control cracked, where her guard dropped, and where the ground slipped out from under her, and though she had performed her job adequately the summer Richard Castle had gone off to the Hamptons with his ex-wife, her heart hadn't been in it. Her warmth as a person had gone to the Hamptons with Castle, leaving behind a cold, _somewhat_ reckless shell of his best detective that only started to fill back in once Castle was back in the bullpen.

He was standing in his glassed-in office, staring out at the flurry of activity beyond the glass. Ryan and Esposito were both on the phone, tracking down the financials and phone records of their latest suspect. Beckett was parked in front of the murder board, filled to capacity with faces and post-its and facts surrounding George Landau's murder. She surreptitiously glanced at the elevators doors whenever they opened.

She was waiting on Castle.

He glanced back at the phone on his slightly cluttered desk, the one that delivered a phone call warning _him _of what a maid from a service had called into 911. The one that had told him Rick Castle had disappeared, leaving behind a wrecked loft and streaks of blood on the polished hardwood floors.

He knew what he was about to do would change everything, and he desperately wished that by holding the information back he could make the facts simply cease to exist, but he couldn't delay. Waiting would be deadly.

"Beckett," he called, his head just outside his door. "A word?"

The tall, beautiful woman took one last look at the board before walking purposefully forward. He let her into his office, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

The summer had been hard to bear, not just because she'd shunned everyone in the precinct that cared about her, but because he cared for the well-being of those working under him, and she'd been in a kind of pain nobody wants to be in. They'd all watched Castle break her heart before he left and, though they knew he hadn't meant to, none of them had completely forgiven him for it. But when he came back, she slowly became herself again. After she broke up with the cardiac surgeon, she didn't seem to hurt the way she had when Castle was gone. Montgomery didn't make it a habit to keep up with his employee's personal lives, but that breakup, if anything, had allowed her to grow happier.

He watched her face as he gingerly broke the news to her. The woman had a masterful poker face, one he would have given good money for in his younger days, but it was nowhere to be seen. Her face crumbled, her eyes watered, and it was a very, very long moment before she could stand up and walk out to gather her team.

Kate Beckett had survived a lot of things that would get a normal cop killed, but something in Roy's gut was telling him this time was different. This time, she'd be facing something she'd never had to face before, and Kate Beckett was about to walk that thin tightrope every other obsessed cop he'd ever known had fallen from.

But he couldn't pull her from the case, either. She was Castle's best hope.

For now, he just had to pray she found Castle before she fell.

* * *

**/chapter 1**

* * *

Notes: This chapter pairs well with a lovely vintage of _It's Not A Game_ by Harry Gregson-Williams.

I'm finishing about a chapter a day at the moment. I was going to write it all and then post it, but that would involve actually editing the thing. The plot bunnies are backing up, and I have work to do…so now that it's about half-written it's becoming a serial. I'll post one every day or so until it's either finished or I run out of pre-written chapters.

So far, this is the shortest chapter. I think it'll stay that way. The outline was 29 pages long in 12 chapters. I've fleshed out the first four chapters to 23 pages by themselves without a final once-over. If you enjoy longer stories, this one shouldn't disappoint.


	2. The Weatherman Is Always Right

_Hey, thanks for the feedback! I don't crave it like some authors do, but I certainly appreciate the comments!_

_In return, I'll deliver another chapter just a little early._

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Weatherman Is Always Right**

* * *

_**48 Hours Earlier**_

Her mornings were a comforting routine.

It was a tiny bit of structure in her unpredictable life. She found comfort in that routine. It reminded her of the days when she would get up and get dressed eat breakfast at the kitchen table with her mother for a few minutes before she was shipped off to school. It reminded her of the way things were long before, the happy times, when she still thought her life would be a grand adventure.

She wasn't a pessimist, exactly, but life had dealt her an entirely different set of cards. She'd done what she could manage with them – she had a career she cared about and worked with great people, but it wasn't a desk job, and it wasn't easy. It was sleepless nights and danger and stress, and it would take a toll on anyone's state of mind.

Which was why, every morning, she would get up out of bed and walk to that bar in front of her bedroom door. She'd do a full set of reps before rolling out a yoga mat and properly, if briefly, greeting the sun. Then to the shower, where she would linger as long as she wanted to and let the warm water finish waking her up. She allowed herself to splurge on bath products, from the salon-brand shampoo to the artisan-crafted soap, specifically because her morning shower was the last guaranteed moment of peace in her day. After that, she would get dressed, slowly covering Kate up with layers of cotton and wool armor, transforming slowly into Detective Beckett piece by piece. She doesn't sit at the table and eat breakfast anymore – she hadn't since she was nineteen. Instead, she grabs a piece of fruit or a bagel and the last two pieces of her public persona – her badge and her gun – on the way out the door.

That morning was different. They'd closed their last case at 1:45am, when their perp had stupidly threatened someone else with the murder weapon he'd hidden away. Despite the break that moment of monumental idiocy had afforded her in the case, she'd gotten home at 3:52 – stupidity helped her find the bad guys, but it often created more paperwork. When her typical 6:30am wakeup trilled its cheerful greeting, she turned it off and went back to sleep.

The sun was coming up over the buildings, casting small slivers of light through her loft's many windows. This apartment was neither small nor large by New York standards, but the insurance payout from her previous residence – destroyed by "a freak explosion," – was enough to afford a place on the edge of Manhattan with a lot of windows and semi-decent views. The then-prospective new owner had toured the place on a bright day, and when the sun was out it lit the place up as if the place were made of golden sunbeams and glow. Typically, that alone was enough to wake her. She was dead to the world this time, having called a truce with it for a few blessed hours of sleep.

That changed at 7:02, when her Blackberry violated the treaty.

"Beckett."

Detective Kate Beckett's head emerged from her down cocoon, her face shifting from something resembling sleepy into a well-practiced stone mask. She listened to the voice on the other end of the line carefully.

"You're on your way?" She was out of bed, searching for something more appropriate and professional than an oversized t-shirt. She found black pants, high black boots, and a maroon shirt that was a still a little brighter than she felt.

"8th and 53rd? On my way. Yeah. Calling him now."

She ended the call as she walked into her bathroom and flipped on the light. Her mask was still in place, but under the harsher fluorescent lighting it was easier to tell she wasn't feeling up to this. There were dark circles under her sandpaper-lined eyes. Her naturally pale complexion was a leaning in unnatural's direction.

Her badge and her gun were in her nightstand. It was the last stop she made before she went to the door, plucked her black wool coat and a bright red scarf off the coat hangar, and left the rest of her morning routine behind.

The empty apartment really was quite beautiful in the warm glow of the sun, and it was the first sunny day in a long time. The weatherman promised several days just like it for the rest of the week.

The weatherman would be wrong.

* * *

There was one part of shadowing detectives that he hated.

He could deal with dead bodies – he'd never really been one to find much anything gross, except for maybe okra. He could deal with blood. But there was this awful smell of slightly rotten _something_ that seemed to cling to a corpse whether it was an hour old or five days, and the more blood they found at the scene, the worse that smell got.

There was blood everywhere…literally, _everywhere_. There were splotches on the ceiling fan blades and smears on the broken tv. It was like this guy stumbled around on purpose to touch and _break_ every surface just once before he died. He looked over to Lanie, who had been on the scene before anyone per usual, but as per usual she was too busy scribbling notes to do much more than grunt in greeting.

Esposito and Ryan were there, too, having arrived not two minutes prior. They were picking through the carnage of the destroyed loft while Lanie finished up.

"Castle." The voice, the oh-so-familiar, melodious, slightly bossy voice, came from behind him. He automatically held out his left hand, and she automatically snagged the proffered venti coffee cup.

"Good morning, Beckett! How did you sleep?" He glanced at her as she pulled up beside him, and immediately had his answer: she looked completely exhausted, and if the shadows around her eyes weren't enough, the way she sucked down the still very warm coffee was flying that warning flag high.

"Oookaay," he muttered under his breath. "It'll be an espresso shot kind of day."

She looked over at him for the first time and smirked. "Thanks for the coffee, Castle."

"Hey, anytime! Now…will someone fill me in?"

Lanie chose that moment to stop writing and flip her notebook shut. "Male, about 28, multiple abrasions all over his body, probable broken bones, possibly some stab wounds."

Castle took another look around. "Ya think?"

His gaze landed on Lanie's face, who was clearly not amused. He swallowed. "Shutting up."

But Kate, blessedly, agreed with him. "There's an awful lot of blood, Lanie. If those stab wounds are just probable, where did all the blood come from?"

She sighed, squatted down and picked up the man's limp arm. Castle grimaced when he watched it bend in three places, none of which were the elbow.

"Ouch."

"He's pretty beaten up," Lanie added.

"So's his apartment." Beckett looked back down at the body. "But that didn't kill him."

Castle watched Lanie narrow her eyes. "No. Someone snapped his neck."

He looked back down at the blood-soaked body. "Wow," he quipped, "that's overkill."

It was funny, or at least he thought it was funny. When he lifted his eyes again, though, both women were glaring at him.

"Shutting up," he said again.

"Mmm him," Lanie hummed, drawing her lips into a thin, annoyed-looking line. "Make it stick this time, Writer Boy."

He desperately started seeking out Ryan and Esposito. The girls were cranky. They mercifully came to the rescue with oh-so-important notes.

"Vic's name is George Landau. He's a lawyer at Smith, Waters & Prescott." Ryan looked a little less neat than he usually did. His tie wasn't quite straight and his light brown hair wasn't quite in place, and the rest of him looked a little like he rolled out of bed dressed from the day before and patted everything back down. "They don't start answering their phones until 9, according to the voicemail greeting. Address is just down the street."

"The building manager," Esposito nodded his head to a distraught-looking balding man in the corner, "says Landau moved in here last year. They've had a few noise complaints over parties and the neighbors don't like him much as a result, but he pays his rent on time." For his part, Esposito wasn't as rumpled, but there was definitely exhaustion on the man's face. His dark olive complexion was a little paler than usual, and he wore a slightly less intense set of bags under his eyes.

"Why don't the neighbors like him?" Beckett tried to stifle a yawn as she said it, and only half succeeded. She immediately took another sip of coffee.

"Maybe they didn't like being left out of the parties," Castle offered.

Lanie glared at him, but said nothing about his broken promise. "I'm going to collect the body and take him back to my lab," she said, turning away. "I'll call you if I find something."

"Thank you, Lanie!" Castle watched as she lifted a hand and waved an acknowledgement to him, then turned back to the worn-out group.

"Next of kin?"

"Still running it down. Haven't found anything here."

"Okay…we'll go to Smith, Waters & Prescott. You guys canvas the neighbors and see what you can find."

The boys flipped their notebooks closed and nodded. "You got it, Boss," Esposito said, heading for the door.

Castle took one last look at the place. It's wasn't huge, but it was nice enough for an up-and-coming lawyer. He'd amassed some modern-looking essential furniture, a new-looking (if broken) 50-inch brand-name LED tv with a PS3 attached to it, a well stocked bar…or what _was_ a well-stocked bar…and—

"Oh, wow! Is that a framed Joe DiMaggio rookie card?"

The mantle over the fireplace hadn't escaped the chainsaw massacre gore. The hanging bats, criss-crossed on the wall and signed by Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle, now bore a permanent stain from their previous owner. Five baseballs, some on the floor and some still on the mantle, were all rolling around in the remnant mixture of their glass cases and their owner's blood. He caught the names Don Mattingly and Jackie Robinson and cringed.

But the rookie card, still hanging between the ruined bats, might have been the only thing in the entire apartment that hadn't been smashed.

"I bet he's from here," Castle said.

"Castle…"

"Hey, remember when we met Joe Torre?"

"Castle."

"I just want to…" he lifted an index finger toward the card, inching carefully toward the glass. He was stopped when Beckett reached out and grabbed the hand, then yanked it in her direction.

"We have some lawyers to question."

Castle looked back at the card longingly, but resigned himself to the new task. After all, how often did someone get to question a lawyer?

* * *

The offices were a lot like every other high-rise office she'd ever been in – overpriced mismatched artwork on the walls, an incoherently masculine scheme of green marble, dark wood and stainless steel, capped off with camel-colored leather seats that looked nice but hurt to sit in.

The receptionist looked like she'd never seen a cop before, although Beckett supposed that might actually be the case: the girl looked all of twenty one, and defense lawyers didn't invite the police over for friendly chats.

Castle squirmed in his seat for the hundredth time. She glanced over at him, amused by how miserable he looked.

"You okay over there?"

He squirmed again. "No. These seats are worse than my publisher's."

It wasn't long after that a tall, hawkish man in tailored Armani came out to greet them. He didn't smile as they shook his hand, just ushered them into the nearest boardroom.

It wasn't as fancy as the rest of the office. Truth be told, it looked a little like the interrogation room before the last repaint.

"So, Detective," the lawyer, Harvey Denton, sat across the table from them, back to the door. "This is about George, I understand? I hope there's nothing serious going on."

"Actually, Mr. Denton, he was found murdered in his apartment this morning. We're hoping you might be able to help us with the investigation."

Beckett watched the man carefully as the news set in. She was sure they were in this room, in this arrangement not because it was convenient, but because this was where the lawyers in the firm would meet with someone they needed something from…something they wouldn't give over easily. It was stark, but not so industrial that its purpose as a legal torture chamber was obvious, subtle enough that most people would never clue into the fact that they were being strongarmed into giving over what the firm needed. Beckett was pretty sure they put more thought into the room they were in than the décor everywhere else.

But when she told the man his junior lawyer was dead, she watched his expression and posture change. He was no longer threatening. He was suddenly just sad.

"I see," he replied. "What happened?"

"He was attacked in his apartment."

"Home invasion?"

Beckett paused. "We're exploring every option at the moment, which is why we're here. Was he working on anything that might have gotten him killed?"

The man shrugged. "He's – he _was_ – working on a fairly high profile case, but I can't imagine why _he_ would have been targeted."

"Was he working on anything that might have made someone angry? Did he have any enemies that you knew of?"

Denton shook his head. "No. Nothing that should have gotten him killed. But he was a lawyer, Detective. We generally make enemies about as quickly as police officers do."

She nodded. "Would you mind if we took a close look at the last few cases he's worked?"

The older man frowned. "The resolved ones, no. We'll send over the briefs. For the case he was working on, I can give you the discovery documents and any other court filings. I also suggest you speak to Audrey Millican, his paralegal. She's out running errands at the moment, but should be back around lunch."

"What about his personal life?" She leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Who did he list as an emergency contact?"

The man frowned. "Actually, I believe his dad was listed, but he died about nine months ago. To my knowledge, that was his only living relative."

"Did he have any kind of significant other?"

Denton smirked a little. "Again, not that I know of. But then, I don't make it a habit to ask about the personal lives of everyone here. That's probably something else Audrey can help you with."

Beckett was getting the impression that asking anything else was going to be pointless with the man – professionally, he didn't seem to interact with him much beyond being his supervisor. Personally…well, the man seemed to care, but not enough that they were going to find anything useful.

"Thank you, Mr. Denton. When Ms. Millican returns, let us know. We'll send someone to pick her up."

They shook hands and exited the dreary little room, stopping off at the front desk for the case files they needed.

In the elevator, Castle broke his temporary silence.

"Something feels off about this case. Does something feel off to you?"

"You mean besides the fact that we have a massacred body and absolutely nothing to go on?"

"Well, yeah. It's just that, we usually have something to go on early. And who makes the kind of mess we found in Landau's apartment and fails to leave any evidence behind? It's too clean. Like it was meant to be that way."

"Castle," she said, exasperation creeping into her tone, "It's _always_ meant to be that way. Most of the time, the bad guys just screw up."

He didn't have a response to that, but he didn't need to. Her gut was definitely churning.

He was right – there was something off about the case.

_And it's not even noon yet._

* * *

**/chapter 2**

* * *

Notes: this particular chapter pairs well with _Passacaglia_ by Bear McCreary. And maybe a little gorgonzola.

More coming soon.


	3. C Is For

_Again, thanks for all the fabulous comments. _

_One or two of you have expressed a desire to see the songs I pair with each chapter at the beginning rather than the end of the chapter. I hesitate to do that. It was actually my original intention to try matching music that times out well from a certain point in each chapter, but so far it's an experiment that has only worked out with the first and last chapters because there aren't many scene transitions. For everything else, the music selections have really only gone with a scene or two, and clash with the rest of the chapter. This one is actually a good example of the problem: some characters you'll encounter early on deserve, shall we say, something along the lines of "Pink Elephants on Parade" from _Dumbo, _but it sounds ludicrous with the rest of the scenes._

_While I'm on the subject of music, most of these songs can be found on YouTube, but there will be one or two of them you'll have to look up on Grooveshark. I'll warn you when those songs come up._

* * *

**Chapter 3: C is For…**

* * *

They needed a lead. They needed it fast.

Castle had spent the last several hours digging around for next-of-kin. He'd learned their vic had graduated near the top of his law school class at Yale, did his undergrad at Virginia and had gone to high school at Bergtraum. He'd also learned he had been on scholarship through most of college, and that his father had left him a flat and about 300,000 dollars when he died. He'd learned all kinds of new things, none of which were relevant at all.

Beckett was digging through the case files. As it happens, he'd been defending Vinny Ferini, the head of one of the five mafia families. The 32nd found evidence to implicate him in a sloppy murder, and the DA had been only too happy to prosecute. She'd heard of the case, but knew nothing of the details. The documents she'd been provided helped in that respect, but didn't give any clues as to why George Landau would have been killed.

"The lawyer defending a mafia kingpin? Come on, Beckett! That has 'mob hit' written all over it!"

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the pages on the table. "There's no reason to kill the _lawyer_, Castle. If one of the other families were going to sabotage the case, they would have gone after Ferini."

"Yeah…but…" Castle paused. She glanced up from the paperwork to see him frown.

"Maybe Ferini ordered it."

She looked back to the files. "Why would you kill your own lawyer?"

His response came with a raised eyebrow and a grimace. "You should have seen what Gina got in the divorce."

She knew it was a cruel thing to do, but she smiled anyway.

"Yo Beckett! I think we have something!"

Ryan and Esposito were wearing matching smirks, and that usually meant they'd hit paydirt. But ever since Castle had started shadowing her, they'd developed a habit of making their report a sort of tandem story.

Clearly, the writer had rubbed off on them.

"What did you find, boys?"

They looked at each other briefly before Esposito started. "So get this: Landau was pulling huge amounts out of his bank account every couple of weeks, always as a cash withdrawal."

"We couldn't figure out what he was doing with it or where it was going…you know, because it was cash," Ryan continued, "but then we had an idea. Landau doesn't have a car, and it turns out he kept every receipt. Apparently he's the kind of guy that actually itemizes his deductions and keeps his receipts. He kept cab fares in their own specialized file."

"On each of the days a big wad of cash came out of his account, he took a cab to West 135th, an address that belongs to a known bookie named Ruben 'The Cookie' Salazar."

Castle's face scrunched up. "The Cookie? Really?"

Esposito held up the rap sheet, his index finger right next to the field that read "AKA: 'The Cookie.'"

"I couldn't make that up if you paid me, Castle."

The writer grunted. "_I_ couldn't make that up, and they _do_ pay me."

Beckett rolled her eyes as she walked back to her desk and grabbed her coat. She grabbed his, as well, and tossed it at him before he managed to completely turn around. He caught it with his head.

"Come on, Castle. We're going to make The Cookie crumble."

Castle groaned from beneath a layer of wool. "The lameness of your pun makes me think we need to stop and get more coffee first."

* * *

The neighborhood wasn't exactly the safest. 135th street was halfway up Manhattan Island from the station, and though the 12th couldn't claim to have the easiest beat ever, it was nothing compared to the special kind of hell inflicted upon the 32nd. That hell was known to the rest of the world as Harlem.

West 135th ran straight through the heart of the most crime-ridden area on the island. Buildings had been hastily constructed and left to deteriorate a long, long time ago. Their particular destination was a dingy glass storefront in a languishing brick box on a street full of hungry architecture.

Kate knew her car screamed "cop" in this neighborhood. Thankfully, neither she nor castle looked like the typical Harlem cop. She parked a block over, and they walked the rest of the way.

"Holy crap, he's _huge! _They should have called him the cookie_ monster!"_

Ruben Salazar's joint looked worse up close, especially in the brightest part of day. They could see him through the window, looking at least 150 pounds heavier than his last mugshot. He had one person with him, a tall man dressed in a loose-fitting black suit.

They were already watching the pair before they walked in the door.

"Easy, Castle."

"I'm just saying, the man is intimidating in that "I'll sit on you to make you flat, then eat you like a pancake" way. And…I'm being literal. You know I'm being literal, right?"

She plastered a smile on her face. "Shut. Up."

She opened the door and walked in first. Castle obligingly stopped talking.

The interior was dim, its floor-to-ceiling shelving lined with junk. An old, dirty lamp without a shade, a music box without a lid, an old-style oscillating fan without the blades…there wasn't a thing of value in the store, yet everything had a bright yellow price tag advertising the low low price of way too much.

"Oy Chiquita! What can Ruben do for yous?" His voice was a little higher than she expected, though she wasn't surewhat she was meant to expect from the man. He was dressed in a huge Hawaiian print shirt and white pants. He'd completed his look with a straw hat on the top of his smallish, pear-shaped head. His beady little eyes made no secret of leering at her.

She felt Castle come up close behind her, probably in a misguided effort to protect her. She imagined he'd caught the expression on the heavyset man's face, and the fact that his tongue had just slipped out of his mouth for a moment. She rolled her eyes and flashed her badge.

"Kate Beckett, NYPD. I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Salazar."

The leer and tongue disappeared immediately. They were replaced by a strangely comical look of outrage.

"I don't have any business with cops. My friend here, though, he likes cops. You can talk to him."

The man in the suit, who weighed about the same as Salazar for completely different reasons, stepped forward quickly with his left hand out.

"Whoa! Peace treaty!" Castle yelled, but the man was already on the move. Beckett wasted no time with the burly bodyguard: as he neared, she grabbed his outstretched arm and pushed back in her favorite takedown maneuver. The man's face was on the dingy glass counter before he could think.

"Owow!" he yelled. "Okay! Sorry! Boss say deal with it!"

"Pendejo!" Salazar yelled. "What the hell I pay you for?"

"Sorry boss. I can't use my hand good."

"Why not?"

"I broke it! Remember?"

"That's no excuse! I tell you that last week!"

"It really hurts, Boss. Make the cop lady let go?"

Kate listened to the exchange with an exasperated look on her face. She glanced back to Castle, whose face was closer to perturbed surprise.

She'd come across a lot of stupid crooks in her time as a cop, but rarely did they make her fear for the future of the human race the way these two did. And in less than one minute? It was a new land speed record.

She let the man loose and backed up.

"I need to know what your association was with George Landau."

Salazar frowned. "Don't know 'im."

He lifted an eyebrow. "His cab receipts and bank records say something else."

The battered bodyguard returned to Salazar's side just as the man made some kind of squeaking noise.

"Records! The man paid me cash!"

Kate's other eyebrow went up in surprise. Even his bodyguard turned his head and gave him a funny look.

"Really," Castle said under his breath, "you're_ that_ dumb?"

"Hey, shut up white boy! It's not illegal to make the books!" He raised a menacing sausage-sized finger toward him, which might have fallen a little short of menacing and strayed toward pathetic.

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose. The bad grammar and broken English was giving_ her_ a headache.

"It's bookmaking," Castle replied. "And it's a _felony_."

She waved him off. "Just tell me about George Landau, Mr. Salazar."

"Well, he's late."

Castle snorted behind her. She reached back, grabbed his wrist, and pinched until she heard a tiny, "ow."

"Late on his payments?"

"Yeah…two months. Owes five grand."

She frowned. "He's also dead."

The fluffy man frowned back. "Oh."

"Where were you this morning between between 4 and 7?"

Kate looked down for a second to fetch her notepad. When there hadn't been an answer after a few seconds, she looked back up.

Salazar and his henchman were looking bashful, exchanging glances. Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment she wasn't sure she _wanted_ that answer, but then the Hawaiian-covered Hispanic turned back to her.

"Look, Chica, I don't kill anyone. I don't get paid like that. We just…scare 'em a little is all."

"Did you…_scare_ George Landau?"

The bodyguard glanced at Castle. "He _was_ on our list, but he didn't make it no higher than next month."

Kate looked again over to Castle and actually smiled when his hands turned to claws and his face looked upward in irritation.

Salazar flapped his hands around a little. "The ecosystem, you know? _Everybody's_ late."

She squeezed Castle's wrist to stop him before he spoke._ Maybe this'll work better in a more familiar language._

"Gracias por su tiempo. No dejan la ciudad, por favor."

The two looked at each other quizzically, then back at her.

"Look, Lady, I may look it but I don't speak it."

She reached over and slapped her hand over Castle's mouth before he could retort.

"Thanks for your time. Don't leave town," she growled. Then she grabbed Castle by the arm and dragged him out.

* * *

"He doesn't speak it? What language IS his native language? It's obviously not English! They butchered it! Both of them! Don't those men ever _read?"_

"I'm pretty sure Salazar can at least read names and numbers."

"I don't understand how! The man was one rung on the evolutionary ladder above a lemur! And he's bowing the ladder!" Castle's hands were waving around dramatically in a perfect imitation of another member of his family. She was grateful for the space in her police-issue interceptor – it allowed him to channel his mother without abusing the driver. "Listening to those two try to string together a grammatically correct sentence was like reading really, _really_ bad fanfiction."

Kate frowned. "Bad _what?"_

"It…uh…nevermind. But on a related note, didn't Salazar look to you a little like an upholstered Jabba the Hutt? He made _my_ skin crawl. Especially when his tongue popped out."

That made her smile. "You'll get used to all those pretty men staring at you one day, Castle."

He shivered visibly. "Eugh. But seriously, those two didn't do it. We're back to square one."

Her mouth twitched a little. "I dunno. I think the bodyguard was capable of it."

"Capable?" Yeah, but only at full strength. He's clearly not left-handed, and he didn't break his hand _today_."

She smiled. "What makes you so sure?"

"His cast was new-ish, but not freshly set. It was dingy around the corners, corners he would have needed to press against Landau's clothing to get a good grip on him. I got a good look at his hand when you had him pinned against the counter – very nice move by the way. Blood doesn't wash off plaster. You have to take bleach to it."

"You know this because…?"

"Seriously? Didn't you ever have a broken arm as a kid?"

She rolled her eyes. "No."

"Well…rest assured, blood does not come off plaster with soap and water. Plus, it was a thumb cast. You can't twitch a broken thumb without pain shooting up your arm."

She was always amused by his lines of logic. The truth was, if she suspected either one of them was capable of Landau's attack she'd have put them in cuffs and thrown them in the back seat, and Castle would be lecturing them on proper grammar instead of spinning theories.

But she didn't tell him that. "Maybe you're right," she conceded. "We'll have to talk to Audrey Millican. See if she can think of anything that might help us."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Castle decided to break it.

"Blazing Heat will be out soon. The publisher wants me to do a book tour."

Her heart fluttered for a moment, reliving the heartbreak from that summer he spent in the Hamptons with his publisher. "Oh?"

"Yeah…it'll be a month or so. Over the summer."

"Any stops finalized yet?"

"Oh, the usual. Philly, Chicago, Miami, Dallas, LA. Gina's arranging it like a vacation tour because she wants to go along. "

She was taking a sip of her now lukewarm coffee. She had to hope that, if he caught her flinch, he'd pass it off as a reaction to the coffee and not his words.

But no such luck. He'd gotten way to good at reading her.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Burned my mouth."

"Like hell," he insisted. "You flinched when I mentioned Gina."

"I said don't worry about it, Castle."

He did as she asked, and she felt a tad guilty. She didn't want to tell him how the idea of Castle running off for anything reminded her so vividly of that summer he was gone. He didn't want to admit to him that in his absence, that darkness she'd kept at bay for so long had started creeping back into her life after seven years of peace.

She was only too happy to receive a text from Ryan just then: the paralegal was on her way to the precinct.

"Come on," she sighed, "Let's go talk to Millican."

* * *

The interrogation room was a bleak place to tell someone their coworker had been murdered. Castle always hated it when he or Beckett had to break something tough in there. The room held no comfort, offered no compassion, and was as cold as the truth it traditionally served.

Audrey Millican was a particularly pathetic example of those poor innocents subjected to this room. She'd been trying not to cry for ten minutes, and had been successful on and off for about three and a half. Beckett had long ago planted a box of tissues on the table.

The woman was about 23, blonde, pretty in a way he may have appreciated earlier in his life, and shorter than Beckett by almost a head.

And she had been almost no help at all.

"Please, Miss Millican," Beckett pleaded. "If you could remember anything…anything at all about his recent behavior, or something about one of his recent cases, that would help us tremendously."

The woman shook her head with a forlorn look on her face. "I'm sorry, Detective…I just don't remember anything out of place."

Beckett sighed and leaned back in her chair. Castle watched her face. He could tell something was bothering her…he thought at first it was the conversation from the car, but he knew better. It wasn't something so easy. This was a complicated frustration, one he rarely saw on her face.

Their lack of evidence was eating her alive.

"Look, Audrey," he said, turning on the charm almost without realizing it. The tactic succeeded in drawing her attention away from the tissue box, away from the tears, and to his face. "Can I call you Audrey?"

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "Sure."

"We're really struggling here. We need anything to look into, even if it's minor. Even if it's about his case—"

"Oh, but I can't say anything about that," she replied.

"I know that," Castle replied sympathetically. "But maybe there was something weird about it? Something that irritated him?"

He was grasping at straws, and pulling them out of his ass. He just wanted her to stop crying and start thinking. Her face contorted for the briefest of seconds. To his shock, she started talking.

"Oh, my gosh! Last night!"

Castle looked over at Beckett, who was already looking at him with one eyebrow raised over her magically multicolor hazel eyes. "Last night?" she cued.

"Well, there was something that happened last night. I hadn't really thought much about it, though – it sort of happens a lot. He came across some things in old police reports. He kept flipping through them like he'd found something. When I asked him about it, he kept telling me to hang on. Then he just said 'I'll see you in the morning,' and left."

"Do you know which files he was looking at?"

"No. No, he took them with him."

He watched Beckett frown, and could guess why. CSU and a bunch of uniforms had found a lot of paperwork: a set of police reports was not on the list. "Were those reports critical to his case? Do you know?"

She shrugged. "I suppose they could have been, but like I said I never saw them."

Castle leaned over to Beckett, an idea popping into his mind.

"Maybe that's what the killer was after," he whispered. She looked down in thought, but said nothing to him.

"Thank you for coming in, Miss Millican. I think we're done."

Beckett rose to leave, and Castle immediately did the same. They both reached over and shook the young woman's hand.

He was about to start for the door when he saw a light go off in Audrey's eyes.

"Oh! Wait! I forgot!"

Beckett turned to face her one more time. "Yes?"

"He was on his cell phone as he left. It looked serious."

Castle and Beckett looked at each other. "Do you know what it was about?"

"Oh…no," she replied, looking confused for a second. "But he doesn't have a girlfriend, and I've never heard him mention family. It might have been about the case. You guys will have access to his phone records, right? I don't know what if anything it has to do with those old reports, but maybe the person on the other end does."

* * *

**/chapter 3**

* * *

Notes: I'm showing my gamer's roots with this one, but part of this chapter pairs well with _Kefka's Theme_ by Nobuo Uematsu. I recommend the search, "Kefka's Theme Remastered." It should be the first thing that comes up...and you _should_ immediately know which part of this chapter it pairs with. Gotta warn you, it gets stuck in your head. It's been in mine for three days.

I contemplated using the Hamster Dance...but I think Beckett might have shot Salazar if I had, and God forbid that thing get stuck in _my_ head. I'd shoot _myself._


	4. The Gathering Storm

_Insert knife. Twist._

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Gathering Storm**

* * *

Castle sat as still as he could, waiting not-so-patiently for Beckett to get back with their newest lead. She and Ryan had gone off in search of George Landau's phone records, languishing somewhere between the tech team's inbox and their hands. Actually, Ryan had wandered off some time ago, right after he'd head Audrey Millican's last statement from the other side of the glass. Beckett had gone off to inspire the tech team to move faster.

"Maybe it's just a home invasion gone sideways, Bro. The place was pretty smashed up."

Esposito was at his desk, thumbing through their meager evidence for more clues.

Castle picked a shiny paperweight thing from Beckett's desk and started fiddling with it. "But where are those police reports he left with? No…" He put the trinket down and stared at their newly-constructed murder board. "He had some nice things, and the perp didn't take any of them."

"Nice things? Like what? Everything was smashed."

"Did you see his mantle?" The writer looked back at his friend to gauge his answer. Esposito nodded.

"Yeah, he had some baseball stuff if I remember."

"Not just your run-of-the-mill baseball stuff, my friend! The man had a shrine to Yankee history on his wall, ten feet from the door. Any one of the things I saw up there was worth at least a thousand dollars, and the crown jewel – a 1938 Goudey Joe DiMaggio rookie card – was the only thing in that entire place left completely untouched. Our would-be thief left fifteen thousand dollars hanging on the wall _five feet_ from the deceased Mr. Landau. What self-respecting New York robber does that?"

Esposito shrugged. "Maybe the robber isn't a baseball fan."

"But it fits!" Castle crossed the room, all wound up over his newest theory. "Maybe it does have to do with the case he was working. Maybe they busted into his home and ran off with what looked like evidence."

The other man scratched his head, frowning. "There were a lot of files there," he said finally. "If those files were ever in Landau's apartment, his murderer knew what he was looking for."

Beckett and Ryan returned a moment later. Ryan walked over to them, Beckett walked straight to the phone on her desk. Castle watched her carefully: her posture was a little stiff, and her face was set in that "don't mess with me or I'll pistol-whip you" configuration that issued the rest of the world a six-foot restraining order.

He turned to Ryan. "What did you find?"

They all turned to watch Beckett dial. "The last phone call made from Landau's cell phone was at 7:15pm to Paul Scagliotti."

Castle tilted his head, as if his brain were a game of labyrinth and the ball needed to be redirected. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"He's an assistant district attorney, Bro. He's prosecuted a few of our cases."

The writer snapped. "That would be why! But…why?"

Ryan gestured his chin towards his boss. "That's what she's going to find out."

A few seconds later, she hung up and walked toward the group of men. She looked a little like she was heading toward them, but veered just past. As she walked by, she strafed them with the words, "Conference room," then walked into the glass-enclosed room behind and to the right of where they were standing. After a few seconds of confusion, the three men scrambled after her.

Beckett had transferred the call to the phone in the room, and was already standing in front of it. Castle, the last one in, closed the door behind him before he walked over to stand at Beckett's side.

"My team's here, Mr. Scagliotti. Now, can you tell us what you and George Landau discussed last night?"

The man on the other side of the line began tentatively. "Understand, Detective, that he shouldn't have called me. And he never has before. He and I don't typically play for the same team. But he's an old classmate of mine, and I owed him a favor, so he called to ask me to ask my boss about some old police files he'd come across. Truth be told, he sounded really worried about it. He wanted me to ask about it this morning, but he was so worried I called the DA last night."

"What were the cases about? Did you ever see them?"

"No, no, I just got the high points. We were going to meet up for lunch today, but I got a pretty lackluster answer from my boss so he told me not to worry about it, that we'd catch up some other time." The line went quiet for a moment. "I guess we won't be doing that, after all."

Castle felt for the man. He couldn't imagine what it was like to know the last call a friend had made in life was to him. He hoped he'd never find out.

"The cases, Mr. Scagliotti? What did Mr. Landau tell you about them."

"I was told they were cases from the early '90s. Mafia kidnappings. Big ransom. Some of his client's associates had been implicated in them, I guess. I'm actually not sure why he was so interested in them."

Castle's eyes widened, and his heart started pounding ice-cold blood through his veins at an accelerated rate. He immediately looked over to his partner.

Her face was impassive, that perfect poker face already in place. He knew her well, though: the flare of her nose, the subtle widening of her eyes, and her unusually pale expression gave it away.

And then there were her eyes. He usually found it fascinating how emotion colored them some kind of green. At that particular moment, he wished for any other color.

They were bright emerald. He wasn't sure they'd ever been so beautiful.

Their beauty – and their pain - made his heart hurt.

He moved his arm to press against hers, praying that subtle contact could convey his support silently. After a few seconds, her face gained it color back and her eyes narrowed.

Her eyes, though, could keep no secrets.

"Why did Landau go to you about those cases?" Castle asked in her stead. After a pause, the man on the other end replied.

"George had said his concern centered on the cleanliness of the case. The cops had them all wrapped up in a bowtie before they'd gotten so far as the DA's office, which to be honest is the way we like it…except he said the evidence was always the same, and that the same three officers kept coming up."

"Wait…three?" Ryan spoke just then. "We're actually…um…familiar with a series of cases that sound like they may be the same ones he uncovered. The reports we've read on those involve just two officers: John Raglan and Dave McCallister."

The voice on the other end paused for a moment. "Yes…he mentioned Raglan and McCallister, but he also mentioned a third. A Detective Colin Murphy."

Kate found her voice again. "None of the reports from the mafia kidnappings mention Colin Murphy. Do you know how that name came up?"

There was an even longer pause on the phone line. "No. Like I said, I never saw the case files. I just got the high points. Detectives…how are you so familiar with nineteen year old kidnappings if you work in homicide?"

Beckett answered. "Those kidnappings were erroneously pinned on known mafia associates…imperfect men, mostly criminals, but not guilty of the crimes they were accused of. We found out that Detectives Raglan and McCallister, as well as an unknown third party, were behind those kidnappings after Raglan was murdered."

"I…" Scagliotti was speechless for a long while. "Do you think this has to do with George's murder?"

Castle watched Kate swallow hard and close her eyes. Her voice shook just a little when she answered. "In light of what you've told us and the history of the case, I'd say it's a strong possibility."

"What did DA Barnett have to say about it? Does he remember the cases?" Castle kept his eyes on Kate. She kept her eyes closed.

"He wasn't aware of them…but he called the then-ADA that was in charge of them. He recalled the cases, but not the details.

"Look, Detectives…like I said, I haven't seen those files, but we get a lot of work, just like you. After a while, the cases just start to blur together. I've been here five years, my boss for fourteen. I know I stopped looking for patterns a long time ago, so God only know when he did. We just take things one case at a time.

"If cops fabricate the evidence and the defense can't uncover some to the contrary, there's little chance we'll ever figure it out. You depend on us to put 'em away…we have to depend on you to give us a reason."

* * *

The bright sunlight was fading with the end of the day. Way out on the horizon, grey clouds promised that the sun wouldn't linger. It would be a long time before New York saw it again, according to the revised afternoon forecast. To add insult to injury, it was going to get very, very cold.

Kate Beckett stood before the window in her study. The shutters were typically closed, but today they were wide open, and she was standing in front of them.

Again.

Her mother's murder board had some newer additions to it: Joe Pulgatti, convicted and recently acquitted of Special Agent Bob Armand's murder, and Dave McCallister, John Raglan's co-conspirator. In the middle of it all was a big new index card, the words "Where did the ransom money go?" standing out amidst the dozens of other facts on the board.

Below the board, in a neatly filed box, were the same files that George Landau had presumably called Paul Scagliotti about. She'd gone over them hundreds of times – Colin Murphy's name was nowhere to be found in that box.

A sudden knock derailed her train of thought, though her train had never really moved. She'd been standing in front of the window for an hour, and the only conclusion she'd come to was that she had fallen too far behind in the race to solve this puzzle.

She wondered who could be at her door, uninvited, but quickly shuffled her list of possibilities down to just one.

"Castle."

He was wearing a winning smile when she opened the door, holding up a paper bag from Foo's Chinese Wok and a set of manila folders. She shakes her head and stands aside, inviting him in without a word.

"I knew you'd be working on the case," he started without preamble, "and I just knew that if you weren't back at the precinct staring at the murder board – I called there first, by the way – that you'd be here, staring at another murder board…which might as well be the same one at this point. So I decided to keep you company with Moo Goo Gai Pan, some case files I may or may not have pilfered from your desk, and my charming wit."

She shook her head and looked down, but she was smiling as she did so. "That's sweet."

"It's my job. I'm your partner, remember?"

She said nothing, but she did grab the takeout bag and walk over to her sofa. She hadn't noticed until that moment how hungry she was.

"Thank you, Castle."

He settled into his seat and looked at her for a moment longer than she thought might be necessary. She stilled for a moment, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry you've had a rough day, Kate. And I'm sorry I contributed to it."

"What would make you think that?"

"The conversation in the car, on the way back from the Cookie Monster's house of horrors. I said something to upset you, and I'm sorry."

She felt guilty about the conversation then. Her fears were her own fault: _she_ had been the one to screw up that summer. He had invited her to go with him, and she had turned him down. "No, listen…I'm sorry. It's not fair of me. It's just that…I've gotten used to you being around. When you left for the Hamptons, I got a little…lost."

He frowned and stayed quiet for a minute. His face shifted into a world of expressions, and for a moment she was afraid he'd found something to be upset about in what _she'd_ said. But then she watched as realization physically swept over his body.

It made her feel even worse.

"The murder board. You made your mother's murder board that summer. Beckett, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No, it's fine. I was fine. I just needed something to distract me. I thought Mom's case was as good as anything."

"You weren't fine. You went back to your own special breed of hell for _solace."_

She said nothing, but she couldn't look at him. She couldn't look into his eyes and pretend she hadn't been deeply hurt that summer. She couldn't look into his eyes and pretend he wasn't_ right._

"You never did tell me that thing you wanted to tell me."

Her eyes closed. He was catching on. She didn't want him to catch on.

"Beckett?"

The world began to spin a little. She didn't want to have this conversation now. She wasn't sure she wanted to have this conversation _ever._

"_Kate."_

His whisper was torture. It was full of worry…full of doubt.

"I was going to go with you."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Slowly, she turned to look at his face, expecting…well, she just didn't know what to expect. Shock? Anger? He could be so many things in that moment.

She wasn't expecting to see his face crumble like that. She wasn't expecting to see him so _broken._

"I see," he responded.

She looked down at the opened canister of Chinese food. All of a sudden, she wasn't hungry, and she wasn't in the mood for company.

She was about to send him away, to push him away, when he did something she didn't expect: he leaned in and grabbed her hand. The simple sensation of his skin on hers, of a physical connection between them, sent a current of electricity through her body on the rare occasions that they touched. Over time, the jolts had become stronger, deeper. She couldn't deny how powerful their connection had become.

Her hand was burning. She wanted her soul to burn like that.

She closed her eyes.

"Rick…"

"Kate…I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I left without you."

She was fighting tears. She would not let them fall.

"Come out to a few cities with me this time. I'll even behave."

"I wasn't fishing for an invitation," she whispered.

He chuckled. "You would never need one. You're always welcome. I just thought…well, I wasn't sure you wanted one. Until now."

She opened her eyes again, meeting his baby blues. Something smoldered there for a moment, but then it disappeared.

She squeezed his hand back, and she wondered what it meant.

"Thank you, Castle."

The lopsided grin he knew so well appeared. "Always." He withdrew his hand a moment later, and Kate's heart protested the severed connection painfully. "But you should eat. I know you didn't have lunch."

Her appetite hadn't quite returned, but he was right. And it was Foo's. And Foo's was her favorite.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting over half-empty plates, going over each detail of the many connected cases for what seemed like the hundredth time. Colin Murphy had been a cop, according to the files Castle had brought back, but he'd retired well before the kidnappings, after being shot in the line of duty in 1990.

"It has to mean something that he was shot in a bad mob bust," Castle said.

"It's motive, but it's not proof. His retirement clears up why he doesn't show up in the reports, but doesn't explain how Landau thought he was connected."

He forked another mouthful of Chinese. "What does he do now?"

"Colin Murphy? Security consulting and private contracting. Owns and operates SecuriTrust Systems."

"What exactly does that company do?"

"Building security personnel, system installations, call center."

"Hmm," Castle grunted. "That sounds exciting."

"Not really. I really don't understand how he fits here."

"Are there any other officers that come up in those reports? Any other pattern?"

"No. _Just_ Raglan and McCallister. _Always_ Raglan and McCallister."

A long silence ensues. Neither of them had any ideas. Just like every other facet of all of these cases, every new clue led to a million new questions. It was like running a marathon on crutches.

It was getting very, very old.

"Well," Castle finally said, "you know what this means, don't you?"

Kate lifted her eyebrow in a silent query, but said nothing.

"We're just going to have to ask."

He was right, of course. They had to risk asking Murphy about his connections to those cases, and why Landau thought he might be involved. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Castle was right, but damned if that didn't mean she'd have to do more paperwork.

**/chapter 4**

* * *

Notes: Pair this one with a lovely helping of _Violence and Variations_ by Bear McCreary.


	5. Trust Issues

_This one's more of a bridge chapter. It may not be as much fun as the others. I apologize in advance._

_There's still lots of coffee, though._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Trust Issues**

* * *

He'd been an almost-daily regular there for over three years. It helped that he was famous, but probably not much. They started his order the second they saw him coming down the sidewalk, even on days like this when the weather forced him to hide under an umbrella.

His usual was a grande cappuccino with perfect frothing. It was a snooty drink by nature, but he tried to tell himself that the fact that the beverage got unceremoniously dumped into a paper cup made up for it.

Also, as a writer, he was allowed to be a_ little_ snooty from time to time.

Beckett got one of two things: her favorite was a skinny vanilla latte, and he could really never go wrong with that. On some days, though, she needed something stronger.

"Hold the latte, Ladies. Another venti Americano today. Three bearclaws, as well."

The baristas smiled adoringly and busied themselves with his order.

After he'd received his order and graciously tipped his coffee-making cabal, he walked the few blocks between the coffee shop and the precinct, his head reviewing the evening before. He hadn't meant to bring so much to the surface, and had _no idea_ she had been planning to go with him. To add insult to injury, he'd been just jealous enough of Demming that he'd maybe been a little more semi-touchy-feely with Gina in front of Beckett than he should have been.

Possibly.

_God, Castle, you really are an ass._

He would have loved nothing more to take her with him. And now, knowing what it did to her when he left, he wished more than ever that he hadn't called Gina the night before.

He found the stairs and hit the door at 7:15, a little earlier than the team typically got in, to do some research and ponder the board a little.

He was surprised to find he wasn't the first one there.

"Beckett! What are you doing here?"

She didn't turn around, but she did reach out for her coffee cup. "I work here, Castle."

He dropped the bag of bearclaws on her desk. "No, I mean what are you doing here so _early?"_

She greedily sucked down the Americano the same way she had the day before. He glanced at her desk, noticed an empty but used mug sitting on the edge.

"You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

"I got a few hours." She nodded her head to the break room.

He sighed in response, shaking his head. "You need more sleep than that."

She said nothing. It made him worry. He'd expected a reply of, "I'm a big girl, Castle. I can take care of myself," but received nothing of the sort. He leaned over to look at her, noting the sallow look to her face.

No, she may have spent some time on that sofa, but she didn't sleep at all.

"Did you find anything?" He decided not to push. He'd find a way to deal with it later.

"No." She shook her head. "I've gone over every witness statement, everything Pulgatti said to me, every scrap of paper in these files. There's nothing to implicate Colin Murphy at all."

He frowned. "Speaking of Joe, have you heard from him? Maybe we can just ask him directly."

A slightly sad look crossed her face. "No," she replied. "He's hiding very well."

Just after the Raglan case was wrapped up, after Hal Lockwood had been put away, she'd spent some time going over everything with Joe. He'd been one of the last people to see her mother alive - she hadn't talked about it, but he was pretty sure Kate had secretly enjoyed her time with the ex-mobster. Pulgatti's memories of Johanna Beckett were unique, and had undoubtedly given her daughter another insight into of the woman she'd idolized in life, and missed so terribly in death.

The first few hours of the morning passed in silence as they combed through the old reports again and again, desperate for anything they'd missed. At just after 9:30, no closer to the truth than they had been two hours before, they gave up and went to see Murphy at his office.

Castle hadn't been sure what to expect, but a nice high-floor office in the financial district was not on his list of possibilities. Unlike the midtown lawyer's office they'd been in the day before, the décor at SecuriTrust was completely appropriate: stainless steel, hard woods, a clean color scheme…all very sturdy, psychologically safe-looking things. Their brochures were even well-designed. He was thumbing through them when the receptionist came to collect them.

Colin Murphy had been in his early 30's when he left the force, which made him a little younger than Dave McCallister and John Raglan. Now, he was in his 50's, but you wouldn't have guessed that – the man was built like a tank. His wide shoulders could plainly carry a monstrous load, and the tree stumps he had for legs would make him hard to move. Unlike the muscle-bound moron they'd met the day before, Colin Murphy looked like he knew how to use his brain _and_ his braun.

They met him just outside his office, a nice corner room with plenty of windows and a display shelf. He greeted them both warmly before directing them to take a seat at a table rather than in front of his desk.

"I've heard of both of you," he started. "I still have friends on the force, though fewer in my old precinct than I used to. They're mostly in the southern precincts now, like yours. I'm told the pair of you have solved a lot of cases…and saved a lot of lives."

Castle wondered if his connections included anyone from homeland security. Then he wondered why Murphy would have those connections.

"Just doing…uh…_my_ job," Beckett replied.

"And you, Mr. Castle? Do all novelists make it a point to experience what they write about first-hand?"

"Ah, no," he said. "And I usually don't have to. It just so happens the truth is as crazy as my fiction."

He nodded his head and smiled. "So, Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, how can I help you both?"

Kate furrowed her brow a little before speaking. "Mr. Murphy, have you ever met a lawyer by the name of George Landau?"

Castle watched the other man's eyes widen a little. "I have," he responded. "Recently. Why?"

"He was killed yesterday," Castle supplied.

"And your name has come up in our investigation, but we don't have a clear association. What was your business with Mr. Landau?"

Murphy shook his head. "We had no business. Kid showed up here a few days ago asking about some old kidnapping cases from the early '90s. I tried to tell him I'd left the force well before they happened, but he kept asking anyway."

"Do you have any idea why he might have suspected your involvement?"

"Frankly, no. What's this about, Detective?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Murphy. I know you'll remember from your time in the force that we have to follow up on everything."

"Yeah," he conceded, "but I also know you usually don't question people without any evidence to implicate them, and I'm sorry, Detective…I know there isn't any evidence that would involve me in those cases."

Castle had to admit Murphy had a point, but he also knew this was the last lead on their list. Lanie hadn't found anything unusual, and Ryan and Esposito were coming up empty. It was another perfectly clean case that could be written off as random – a robbery gone awry.

Except that nothing had been taken, and the victim had stumbled into a case that had already killed six people.

Beckett rubbed the bridge of her nose. "We believe the case he was working on led to his murder. At the moment, your name is the only variable we can't account for."

"But where did that come from? I couldn't figure out why he was here, either. Like I said, I was nowhere near those cases." He leaned back. "Look, I'd love to be able to give you the answers you're looking for, but I don't think I have them. And…I hate to lawyer up on you, Detective, but I think I'll have to if we're going to continue."

Castle looked at her when he heard her sigh. "No no, that won't be necessary. You've done enough. Thank you for your time, Mr. Murphy."

He reached out, smiling. No hard feelings, apparently.

"Not at all Detective. I do understand. It was a pleasure to meet you both."

They ushered themselves back out to the lobby. On a whim, Castle picked up some of the information in the lobby and carried it out with him. Beckett's head was dipped low, and she was three steps ahead of him by the time they reached the elevator.

"I was expecting St. George," she said as the doors closed.

Castle gave her a sideways, confused glance. "What?"

"St. George's dragon. Murphy's more of a komodo dragon."

It was a way of conceding that they'd hit a dead end. Unbidden, a famous quote popped into his head.

_These aren't the droids you're looking for._

He frowned.

"How do Jedi Mind Tricks work?"

He heard Beckett's irritated "What?" but he was off in a galaxy far, far away.

"They were looking _at_ the droids. Surely they had a picture. How can you just not see that? Ben was a really powerful Jedi, sure, but…"

"Castle…why the _hell_ are you talking about Star Wars?"

He cast his gaze down to his hands and the marketing collateral he clutched in them. They were expensive, printed on heavy cardstock and in full-color. But he'd read the services…how does a modest private security company afford what a high-dollar midtown law firm can't?

He thought back to the night before, to the new additions on Johanna Beckett's murder board.

_Where did the ransom money go?_

He flipped open the brochure.

"Castle? What are you doing?"

"Researching," he replied. He quickly skimmed the section he'd already read, and finds what he's looking. "Aha!" he exclaimed, pointing at a date. "Look at that!"

She leaned over. "The company was founded in 1993."

"Yes! And was officed in _this_ building from the start! Now, I ask: where does an early police retiree get the money to put a start-up service-based company in the heart of the financial district? It's a Jedi Mind Trick, Kate! You hide something in plain sight, then deny it's there!"

It didn't take long for her to catch on. It was like watching a light turn on behind her eyes. "We'll have to dig into their financials when we get back to the precinct," she said.

He was opening his umbrella again when he heard her phone trill. She pulled the phone up to read the new text as they walked back to the car.

She stopped mid-stride, and he didn't stop in time to keep her completely dry. After a moment, the light rain propelled her back under the protective canopy. He walked her around to the driver's side before climbing in himself.

"It's from Joe," she said finally. "He wants to meet us."

"Really?" He was suddenly aware of a strange tingling in the back of his mind. _Were those warning bells?_ "Where?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she piloted the police cruiser in an uptown direction.

* * *

They rounded the block a few times, just to be certain. Where Joe Pulgatti was concerned, it was better to be cautious.

It wasn't that either of them felt they had anything to fear from him. On the contrary, the man was nothing if not grateful to them for finally setting him free. But he'd been very paranoid after his release from prison, and for good reason: someone had killed a lot of people to keep him there.

The corner of 56th and 6th was a fairly busy intersection, sporting a Starbucks and a Chase branch on one side and some shops on the other. With the bank there, cameras were pointed at almost every possible angle. He'd picked their meeting place well.

Castle was pretty sure Beckett was due for a refill, but she walked past the line at the counter, straight to the back, and sat down in front of a man reading the paper.

Prison hadn't been kind to Joe. Apparently, freedom wasn't much better.

"Hey you two," he said. "How are ya?"

Castle flinched a little when Beckett replied, "fine." He had no doubt the ex-mobster could pick up the gist of it.

"Listen, I'm sorry to pull you guys in like this, but I have a problem, and I think you do, too. I heard about that lawyer that died yesterday. George Landau. There's something you ought to know about his case."

"Wait." Castle leaned in. "You knew George Landau?"

"I wouldn't say I knew him," Joe replied, "but I did talk to him a few days ago."

"Shut the front door."

Castle looked over to Beckett who looked back at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his inner child scratched a line on a chalkboard and was anxiously awaiting his coke.

Joe's eyebrow came up, but he continued anyway.

"George told me he'd come across the old case files and found something. We talked…but I'm not sure what he was looking for, or really what he found. He just asked me questions about Bobby's murder and, you know, my case. Then I hear he was killed, and I think George led them to me. I think they bugged my apartment."

"Them? Who?"

"The ones that set me up to begin with." He looked at Beckett. "The guy that ordered your mom's hit."

Castle was beginning to lose track of the coincidences in this case. But Beckett would disagree with his word choice.

_These are not coincidences_, she would say. And she would, of course, be right.

There was no such thing as a coincidence…in his world, it's all significant detail.

Her phone chose that moment to go crazy. She looked at the phone, frowned, and excused herself to take the call.

Time outside of prison had made Joe Pulgatti thinner than Castle remembered. He wasn't young, but he was pretty sure he wasn't as old as he looked. His grey hair – what little was left – had turned completely white since his release. Fear had created more lines on his face.

Fear compelled him to look into Castle's eyes and share, man to man, what was really bothering him.

"She shouldn't be on this. It's dangerous for her."

He could see his point, but he knew Kate too well. "The truth is as important to her as it was her mother."

"The truth got her mother killed."

Castle watched the man for a minute. He was scared for his life, that much was evident, but his eyes surreptitiously dared over to Beckett, standing a few feet away. He also feared for _her_ life.

And that was _definitely_ something he could understand.

"Why did you text her?"

Pulgatti pulled his attention back to the man sitting with him. "Because of something her mother said one day in passing. I'd forgotten about it until yesterday."

"Oh?"

"She said, 'It's a frightening world we live in when we the only people that tell the truth are the ones behind bars.'"

"I—" Castle frowned and scratched his chin. "I think I'm confused. I mean I agree with her, but I'm not sure what it means."

"It wasn't what she said, it was when she said it. The timing in the case. She had just come from the DA's office. It was the day before she was killed. Listen Rick…you have to get Kate off this case. I don't care what you guys have, you need to get her to drop it."

"Joe, you know she won't do that."

"But you agree with me."

Castle didn't say anything in response, but he knew that pursuing the case would keep her in danger. It was why he'd stayed at the precinct. He needed to be by her side for the end of this case.

"Rick…they're killing again, and I'm willing to bet you don't have any leads." Again, Pulgatti was right – other than the fact that they now knew for sure Landau had been chasing the same people they were, they were out of moves.

"People like that, they're good at cleaning up after themselves. They won't care that she's a cop. I don't want to see another Beckett die over this. You hear me? I know you love her…I can see it all over your face when you look at her. So listen to me. Get her to stop before this gets her killed."

He swallowed a lump that had suddenly developed in his throat. There was nothing incorrect about any of Joe's observations…except that as much as he cared for Beckett…or loved her…he knew she'd never back down. Not for anyone.

Not even him.

"Joe…you know she won't stop. She'll never stop. But I promise you, I won't let her out of my sight. I swear."

The older man sighed, the look on his face a mixture of pain and defeat. "Do whatever it takes to protect her, Castle. And yourself. You can't let those bastards win again."

Beckett came back, her motions hurried, her eyes a little wild. "Castle, we have to go. Joe, I called a friend at the FBI…she's personally coming over with a few trusted agents to pick you up and check your place out. Jordan can be trusted, I swear. Stay _here_, got it?"

"Kate, yeah. I got it, but listen…you need to think about this. You need to be careful. Okay?"

She nodded, smiled. "I promise, Joe. But we have to go." She grabbed Castle's hand and led him towards the door.

He was shocked at the contact: Beckett hardly ever touched him. It sent a pleasant, fuzzy warmth straight up his arm and into his chest. The sensation made it really hard to concentrate, and even harder to breathe.

He turned back for just a second.

Joe looked worried again. And lost. His eyes were begging the writer to do as he asked.

"What's going on, Kate?" he asked.

She didn't stop. She didn't let up. She dragged him straight into the cold rain.

But she did answer.

"Hal Lockwood was found dead in his cell, with a note addressed to me."

It took a second for his mind, numbed up from her touch and the biting chill, to catch up. Lockwood? Dead? "How?"

"Suicide, apparently."

His mouth went dry. "And what did the note say?"

They were at the car again. The second they were in the car, the clouds dumped a deluge on the city.

She looked far away for a moment, as if remembering something precious. It took her a long moment to speak.

"'Ghost of the Future, he exclaimed, I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart.'"

Castle frowned. "He left you a quote from _A Christmas Carol_?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "And a name. He also left me a name."

* * *

**/chapter 5**

* * *

Notes: Apologies for the continued cliffhangers. I apparently studied at the J.K. Rowling School of Writing and Literature.

This chapter is complimented by the lovely aromas of _In Pieces_ by Linkin Park. This is one you may have better luck finding on GrooveShark.

There's some stuff happening this week and some of those deadlines are creeping up. I have the next chapter written, but the one after that is in the roughest form of all the remaining chapters. I'll release Chapter 6 as soon as I can proof it, but 7 may be slightly delayed. Sorry about that. Since I've had an overwhelming number of you tell me how much you're enjoying this, I promise I'll get it going as soon as I can.


	6. Squall Line

I want you guys to know I've read every single one of your comments. I'm actually very happy you're enjoying this story - it sounds like you like reading it as much as I've enjoy writing it.

Onwards: we pick up where the trail of carnage left off...

* * *

**Chapter 6: Squall Line**

* * *

There was nothing easy about this name.

He didn't come up in their system. It took two searches and a call to the Department of Homeland Security to find any kind of information, which given his record ad history surprised Kate when she got that information back.

He was a known arms dealer and mercenary, suspected but never convicted of being involved with a lot of very bad things. He wasn't hard to find and bring in, and he didn't put up much of a fight, but after depositing him in the interrogation room, Ryan and Esposito looked a little freaked out.

The name Hal Lockwood had left her, the one she'd asked him for _every week_ since they'd put him behind bars had been Oleksandr Nevorov.

She stood with Castle on the other side of the glass, watching him carefully, planning her strategy…and letting him stew. Ryan and Esposito were there, next to them. The captain walked in last.

"You good for this, Beckett?"

She wasn't sure she should respond affirmatively to that, but she nodded anyway. "Yes sir."

The man had hardly blinked for ten minutes. He was built on a large, burly frame not so different from Ruben Salazar's bodyguard, except where the man they'd met before had reminded Beckett of a real-life Lennie Small, this man definitely looked like he had complete control of his facilities . He was covered in tattoos – the white wifebeater he was wearing did a wonderful job of showing off his prison-style body graffiti well. It bothered her, though, that they all looked like he had picked them up in the Gulag.

She started for the door, Castle on her heels. When they'd left the others behind, she turned around and put her hand up.

"Castle, I want you to stay outside for this one."

He looked surprised, maybe hurt for a moment, but he recovered with a look of stubborn determination. "Not on your life," he replied. "I want to see what this son of a bitch has to say for himself."

"You can see that from out here. Castle…" She stopped, then sighed as se reconsidered her words.

"_Rick_…this guy is dangerous. I don't want him in a position…" she trailed off again and looked away for a moment. She'd met his type before, done a touch of undercover work with the kind. If he decided to strike for whatever reason, she would have a hard time defending _herself_, let alone the man standing before her.

She didn't want Nevorov in a position to go after him, not when she couldn't be completely sure she could stop it.

"I'll keep my distance, Kate. I can scurry away very well."

His remark made her smile a little. Against her better judgment, she nodded, then led the way in.

"We have signed testimony that says you hired Hal Lockwood to kill John Raglan." She started talking immediately after entering the room, giving no introduction. She crossed purposefully to take the seat across from Nevorov. Castle stood back on this one, taking position in the corner by the mirrored window. "That's a lock for conspiracy to commit murder, and guaranteed time in prison."

Nevorov smiled a thin, gruesome smile. "I've been in the Gulag. Your American prisons do not scare me."

Beckett narrowed her eyes. "Who said anything about an American prison, _Bratchnie_?"

She'd never been more thankful for her semester in Kiev, although some part of her wondered if the captain would approve of calling a suspect a bastard to his face. She'd at least gotten surprise out of the man, though, and that was her plan. She needed to katch him off guard. She needed to knock him off balance.

Since she suspected the man of being part of the Russian mob, that wasn't going to be easy.

"You speak Russian?"

She nodded. "_Da_."

"_Vy dejstvitel'no govorite russkogo, ili vy kak raz rvete menja vokrug?"_

She smiled. _Oh, I'm definitely jerking you around, asshat._

"_Ja opredelenno rvu vas vokrug."_

The amused smile he produced looked unnatural on his face. "I would not mind that, Detective."

"Look…I can talk the state department into keeping you in a nice, cushy American prison if you just tell us who contracted Lockwood?"

He leaned forward, the smile still on his face. "What makes you think I don't pull his strings?"

"You'd better check your puppet, Gepetto. He's dead." She paused, considering her next move.

"And you might be next on that hit list if you don't start coming clean now."

Her strategy focused around guesswork rather than fact, but none of the facts they had would be enough to break this man. People like him only cooperated when _their own_ lives were in danger. She had to hope that her dragon really was as fearsome as McCallister had made him out to be, and that Nevorov knew it.

She watched the man's face set back into a scowl, but his pupils had dilated just a bit. _Fear_.

Desperately, she exploited that crack in his armor.

"All we need is a name, and we can stop that from happening."

The man's impassive, intimidating mask reappeared on his face, and for a long moment she thought her gambit had failed. Maybe he knew Lockwood's death was a suicide…or maybe it was a murder, and Nevorov was a red herring.

She was considering a new strategy when the man grunted.

"I do not know his name, only his cash" he supplied. "But I can set up meeting. Tomorrow."

She was suddenly reminded of Rathborne and Dick Coonan, of the setup gone wrong.

"If you're playing me, Nevorov…"

"I would not play you, Detective," he replied. "I do not want to be involved in this. But if I do this, I will not go to prison."

She frowned for a moment to follow his logic.

"Immunity," she said slowly. "You're asking for immunity."

His response was silence. She took that as a yes.

She risked her first glance at Castle. He was white as a sheet, but had been blessedly silent.

And she weighed her options.

"You'll have to talk about a lot more than this case for an immunity deal to stick. We'd need everything."

The Russian lifted an eyebrow. _"Da."_

She wanted another option. She needed another option. If they asked for immunity, it would piss off every federal investigative unit out there.

But convicting him got them nowhere if he was just a middleman. All of those agencies need his little black book. She just needed one freaking name.

"Fine." She replied. "I'll ask."

A few minutes later, she and Castle emerged from the interrogation room. She was met by Captain Montgomery and the rest of her team.

"Do you trust him?" the captain asked. "Do you really think he'll hold his end of the bargain?"

Kate looked back to the man that two uniforms were escorting to booking. "No," she replied, "but I don't think he's anything more than an agent hocking talent to the highest bidder. We need his customer."

"Or his boss."

Beckett turned to Castle, who had just uttered his first word in over ten minutes. _Is that a new record?_

"He has a middle management vibe about him, you know? He's maybe capable of performing a professional hit, but he's just another merc. I'm not sure he does anything other than coordinate the jobs."

She shook her head. "I'm not sure I buy your logic on this one, Castle…but let's assume you're right for a second. Where does that leave us?"

He shrugged, looking back toward the interrogation room. "Right where we are, I guess. If he can set up the meeting like he says he can, it doesn't matter. But instead of finding another ledge to rest on, we might have just found a bigger handhold. We could be climbing a deceptively tall wall here."

"It doesn't matter." Montgomery shook his head. "I'll get the details worked out. In the meantime, you people keep digging. I don't want to give this guy a get out of jail free card if we don't need to."

Montgomery walked toward his office, leaving the four of them alone.

Castle's silence in the interrogation room, and the sort of rambling theory made Beckett a little uneasy. She was so used to his jokes and antics that their absence made her day a little worse. But while she missed his humor, she appreciated his dedication and focus –Castle had only been so serious a handful of times in the years she'd known him, and each of those times had involved the most sensitive case she had ever worked.

She made a mental note to thank him for that later.

"What now, Boss?"

She wanted coffee. Or a nap. Or a long, hot bath.

She wanted this to be over.

"We should keep looking at SecuriTrust. Make sure all the money has a trail. No holes, no strange write-offs."

"We're on it," Esposito said. A moment later, he and Ryan were off to bug another department.

It left her alone with Castle.

"Maybe we should go grab some lunch," he suggested. "You didn't eat the bearclaw this morning."

Her stomach growled on cue. She looked at her watch: it was almost 2.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Mortello's?"

Pizza. Pasta. Cardboard. Rubber. She didn't care. "Yeah, sounds good. I'll get the coats."

They hung off their normal seats at her desk. Coats in hand, she answered her phone without looking when it rang a few seconds later. "Beckett."

She heard noises, a crackling that sounded light it might have been a bad connection, except that it sounded like shouting.

"Hello?"

There was some shuffling, but no answer. Just more shouting. Frowning, she looked at the call display.

Her Blackberry, in calming and artfully-designed blue letters, displayed _Jordan Shaw._

A darkness began to settle into her mind. She didn't have to be told something was wrong.

"Beckett! Detective, are you there?"

"Agent Shaw?"

"Kate…" The FBI agent's voice was roug and cracking, and got distant for a moment as she shouted orders, but Beckett could make them out this time. She was giving emergency services directions.

"Kate, listen to me…Joe Pulgatti's apartment had been bugged…it had also been rigged with explosives."

"Explosives? What happened?"

"We got him back, did a sweep…we found the bugs first, and the bomb second, but we didn't find it in time to stop it. One of my agents got caught in the blast…I don't think he's going to pull through."

Her heart was racing. Her hands were trembling. Her voice was cracked. "What about Joe, Jordan?"

The agent on the other end of the phone line sighed heavily. "He pushed one of my agents out of the apartment first, and got caught in the blast.

"I'm so sorry, Kate. He's dead."

* * *

Food and thought, for the rest of the afternoon, had been forgotten. They'd gone to the demolished apartment to speak to Jordan. She was banged up, but okay, but she'd been right about her man. He didn't make it to the hospital..

There was nothing to be found in the wreckage but a heavy heart. In Joe's memories, she'd found another link to her mother. In his death, that link had been severed like all the others.

But now there were FBI agents involved. If there was any kind of positive outcome, it was the involvement of federal agencies. They'd gotten permission to pursue a deal with Nevorov. It was the only silver lining of one of the worst days she'd ever experienced on the job.

Night fell over the city. Though she was exhausted, there was no rest to be had. She didn't feel like moving or eating or thinking. Instead, she'd followed her feet out the door of her apartment and into the soaked streets.

She didn't remember making the decision to go to his apartment. It didn't dawn on her where she was until she was knocking on his door.

"I was just thinking about you," he says by way of greeting. She doesn't respond, simply walks in when he opens the door wider for her. He frowns as she crosses the threshold. "You're soaked."

She hadn't even noticed. "Oh…yeah. It's raining."

"Here…" he trailed off as he moved to the laundry room, returning a short while later with a pair of smaller sweatpants and a Harvard t-shirt. "Um…it belongs to Alexis, but I think it'll fit. We'll let all that dry."

Without a word, Kate accepted the clothing. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced like this," she said. "I just…I couldn't wind down, and I thought.."

"Oh, hey…don't worry about it. I was…ah…being unproductive myself. Rough day."

She nodded. "Rough day," she repeated wearily.

"Let me get you something while you change. Wine, maybe?"

A small smile appeared on her face. "Yeah. That would be nice. Thank you."

A few minutes later, she was dressed in decidedly warmer clothing. He was on the sofa, two poured wine glasses and the rest of the bottle on the table. She came up next to him, curling gratefully into the comfortable cushions. They enjoy a comfortable silence for a while…she didn't really have much to say, and he seemed to instinctively understand that. For her, in that moment, his proximity was comfort enough.

But after a glass of Merlot, their last two days started to close back in on her. There was so much going on – so much destruction, so much death.

So much she should be saying. So much more she was _scared_ to say.

It was all just _too much._

He moved closer, letting his proximity comfort her the way it had the day before. Her eyes slipped closed.

"I didn't thank you for yesterday."

He looked over at her. "For dinner? Think nothing of it."

She shook her head. "No. For being there for me in the conference room. As soon as I'd connected the dots, I went numb. Cold. It was…" She looked down. She trusted him enough to let him this far in, but she still hated feeling so vulnerable. "It was a little like being in that freezer again."

His face showed everything. He wouldn't ever develop the kind of mask she wore. She kept her true self hidden on purpose, for her own protection. That mask was there to keep the world out. Castle had no use for masks: he was completely comfortable being himself.

She'd come to love how easy it was for him to just _be_, even if it was occasionally one of those things that drove her crazy.

They'd never really spoken at length about their near-death experiences. They'd discussed the bomb to an extent, but not the freezer. Not the radiation tent. Nothing but the last of several certain death moments in less than two days, and then only to their friends over beers and laughs.

They didn't talk about feelings much at all. That was dangerous. It was a walk on thin ice in the center of a frozen lake– it was a foregone conclusion they would fall in and never get back out.

She was shocked to realize, though, that she wanted to dive in. She wanted him to come with her. And maybe she'd known that for a while.

"You stood by me. It was the only thing I could feel for a while."

He looked very happy…and very worried.

"What Barnett said yesterday, about the cases blurring together…it affected you, didn't it?"

She looked back down at her hands. "It was like hearing Detective Raglan tell us he'd closed the case all over again. I got into this business because I thought the cop that worked my mom's murder wasn't doing his job right. I found out yesterday that even the District Attorney might have written it off. This case has been such a huge part of my life, Castle…to know this might have been resolved by so many different people so long ago hurts in ways I just can't describe."

He reached for her chin, forcing her gaze back up. She found herself snared by the expression he wore, by the depth of emotion in his blue eyes. She felt their point of contact: her skin was on fire where his fingertips held her face.

She didn't stop him as he leaned in. His lips met hers in a tentative, gentle kiss, but the sensation was overwhelming. Her eyes slipped closed as, like a drug, the warmth spread everywhere. She was the one that deepened the kiss, turning it from simple act of comfort into the promise of something deeper, something more. His response was equal.

Like the land after a long winter storm, she welcomed the light as it broke back into her soul.

She became aware of her dizziness a few moments later and drew back. Apparently, he needed air as well.

"Castle," she gasped, panting slightly for breath. She wanted nothing more than to jump right back into the fire, but she was rapidly becoming aware of just how exhausted she was.

"Kate…it's okay. Just sit here. You're exhausted…you've hardly slept in the last two days. We have a lot to talk about…but it can wait a while. You need rest."

She didn't want to sleep. She just wanted to feel that warmth again. But he was right: they needed to have a long talk, and they needed to do this the right way or they would both end up hurt.

She wasn't sure she could bear that.

"Just sleep. It'll all be here when you wake up in the morning." He moved a lock of hair away from her eyes. "Including me."

Her eyes were too heavy and her brain was too foggy to argue. Her leaden head dropped onto his shoulder. She felt his arm come around her a moment later, wrapping her up in his warmth. She'd forgotten how wonderful that felt.

This form of his warmth would have to do, for now.

"Thank you," she whispered, already giving herself over to sleep.

The last thing she heard that night was his voice…but she was too tired to hear what he said.

* * *

When she woke up, they were stretched out on the sofa. It was 6:15.

She left him sleeping peacefully. After a quick change back into her clothes, she left for the precinct – they had a shower there, and she had a gym bag. By 7:30, she was refreshed and re-dressed. At 8, she told the boys they'd be looking at everything one more time: Coonan, Lockwood, Murphy, Nevorov…all of them were getting fresh glances. Everything was new again.

At about 9:30, she was in front of the murder board again. The thing that often held so many answers reflected the same bleak clues it had the day before, and the day before that, but that nagging feeling that she was missing something huge was back. It was right there, like a gossamer veil, except that every time she reached out to move it, the veil moved further back.

The middle of Landau's murder board shared something with her mother's case: those files, the common thread, the reason that Landau went to Murphy and Pulgatti and Scagliotti.

"Hmm."

The only common thread they hadn't taken a serious look at was the DA's office, and the ADA that had prosecuted all the cases.

She glanced over at the elevator doors, then down at her watch. It was 9:45.

_Where the hell is Castle?_

"Beckett." She turned when she heard her captain's voice. "A word?"

She turned to take one last look at the murder board, making a mental note to revisit the cases with the DA's office before walking into Montgomery's office.

* * *

**/chapter 6**

* * *

Notes: One of my favorites, _You Won't Be Mine_ by Matchbox 20, is this chapter's audio companion.

The Russian in this chapter is probably not correct. I know enough Spanish to be conversational, but i had to translate English to Russian, then try to convert Cyrillic to Latin characters. The result was probably horribly butchered, but you don't miss anything in translation. I tried to describe the things that were being said.

Again, I promise I'll try to get Chapter 7 out as fast as possible.


	7. The Deluge

_This one is another bridge chapter. It's also short. Though I could throw a little more into this one, I don't think I need to while looking ahead. Plenty more room for some Beckett angst coming up._

_It also eliminates this chapter. It's a necessary step, but I'll be honest...I had a hard time making it interesting. Way too much coming after it._

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Deluge**

* * *

"Beckett…sit down."

Her mind was outside, in front of the murder board, but she obligingly did as her captain asked. She'd known the man for years: something was bothering him. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen that look on his face.

"What's wrong, Sir?"

This man, her boss, had a hard time meeting her eyes for a long moment. "Listen Beckett, I got a call from dispatch. Something happened."

The last few days had been hell already. They'd lost so many witnesses. She'd lost a friend. Her mind instinctively locked up: the shutters closed, the doors locked up. It was a protective reaction that saved her from going through that moment of sheer terror when something went wrong with a case. It was that well-practiced ability that always allowed her to stay chillingly competent in the midst of a deadly situation.

It _always_ worked.

"Captain?"

No room, no vault, no fortress is impenetrable. Over time, cracks appear in any foundation.

"Kate, Castle's apartment was found smashed up by a cleaning lady. Have you heard from him today?"

Cracks go unnoticed until it's too late.

"N…no, sir. He's actually late. Has anyone…"

She trailed off, unable to speak. Her mind went back to the evening before, to the exhilaration of their first real kiss, to the comfort of his arms.

She'd left him alone this morning. _Alone._ During a case that had claimed so many people's lives, why the _hell_ would she leave him unprotected like that? What the_ fuck_ was she thinking?

"No. It sounds like a kidnapping. The caller said the place was a wreck. And Beckett…there's blood."

"Oh, God…" she whispered, her hand coming up to her lips.

"CSU's on their way. I thought…I thought you'd like to be there. You and the boys."

She barely registered his words, but she nodded. "Yes, she muttered, "yes I think so."

She remembered getting home the afternoon her mother died. She couldn't really remember what they'd done that afternoon anymore, only that it had been so very _normal _compared to every day after it. She supposed she felt like every other freshman in college should over their first holiday break: still happy to be home, but just about ready to put some space between herself and her parents for another semester.

But when she got back to their loft, found John Raglan waiting for them, she knew there was no normal anymore. She understood what it felt like to have your world flipped upside down.

Her hands had deathgrips on the armrests of her chair. It took every ounce of her willpower to fight that feeling off and stand up again. She had just seen him, sleeping peacefully on the sofa where she had left him.

_She had left him. _

She stood slowly, carefully. Everything had gone numb – her mind and her body were in a state of shock.

Only her heart could still feel anything, and all it felt was a crippling pain unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

"We'll be on our way, Captain," she said, her feet on auto-pilot as she exited the office and stepped back into the bullpen.

If she'd been paying attention, she might have noticed that Ryan and Esposito had already guessed something bad had happened when they saw Beckett sit down in the office. They knew it was Castle when she walked through the door, her eyes glazed over, and walked toward them.

By the time she got to their desks, they had already grabbed their coats.

"How bad is it, Boss?" Ryan asked carefully.

"Castle's been taken. It's bad." she replied.

The two men looked at one another quickly. Their intentions were lost on Beckett, but something – as often happened between partners – passed unspoken between them.

"We'll find him, Beckett," Esposito promised. "Let's go. I'll drive."

For once, she didn't argue.

* * *

They'd seen this before.

A little over 48 hours ago, they'd walked into a scene very similar to this. The victim had been left at the scene, beaten after a struggle and finally killed by a broken neck.

This time, the victim had successfully been dragged out.

Montgomery had been right about the blood: there wasn't as much of it, but it was there. A streak of it led from the kitchen to just in before the front door. Various pieces of furniture had been destroyed, and there was a mess in the kitchen.

Of all the broken things to focus on, she stared at the couch she'd shared with Castle until just a few hours before. He'd been there_, right there_.

The car ride over had been the longest ride of her life, but it had given her enough time to gain a little perspective. Landau had been left in his apartment, Joe had been blown up, and if it was connected at all, Hal Lockwood had been made to look like a suicide. No victim had been taken away and tortured. They weren't looking for information.

That meant Castle was still alive.

She had to find him. She had to be sure he stayed that way.

"Esposito. Ryan. Come here."

The two men were at her side in a heartbeat, looking attentive and ready to receive orders. She knew they were worried, too. They were doing a damn fine job of staying focused.

"I need to tell you…I should be a person of interest in this case. I hadn't thought about it before, but I was here last night."

Their eyes widened, then narrowed in tandem. The same sly, if slightly sad smile came over their face. She cringed inwardly for her poor word choice.

"It was innocent. Nothing happened. But I was still here."

If it had been any other time, she would never have admitted even what little she had. If it were any other time, they wouldn't have dropped it.

If wishes were horses…

"Your access card logged you in at 6:59." Ryan looked over to his partner and shrugged. "The neighbor reports that he heard a ruckus at 7:15…apparently, Castle is prone to making noise at strange hours."

"But that puts you in the clear. Problem solved," Esposito finished.

She smiled. "How did you know?"

"You're wearing yesterday's clothes."

"Yeah…we didn't figure after the kind of day you'd had yesterday you'd be doing anything…uh…recreational," Ryan added.

"But we did figure you'd fallen asleep somewhere other than your apartment, and since we watched you go home you didn't stay at the station." Esposito smiled at her.

"We're gonna find him, Beckett. You watch."

Having them around made her feel a little better. As an only child, Kate couldn't really be sure what it was like to have siblings, but those two were the closest thing she'd ever had.

But as much comfort as they brought, she still felt that emptiness in her soul. She desperately wished Castle were there.

She could almost hear him in her head, spinning a wild story about the crime.

"I'd just gotten out of the shower. The coffee was ready since I'd set it beforehand. I walk over, half-dressed in an undershirt and boxers, and pour my first mug. Then my attacker, already in the apartment, comes at me, but I turn in time to see it coming: my instinct is to take the scalding liquid and splash it in his face. It buys me enough time to find a weapon – any weapon. The coffee decanter! I smash it against his shoulder – mostly because spinning and hitting isn't exactly my strongest skill.. It slows but doesn't stop him, and when he comes back after me he's just even more pissed off. I take a punch or two, then stagger into the living area. My attacker follows. We grapple for a bit before I finally take one blow too many, then my victorious attacker drags me out like loot."

She frowned, thinking about the scenario carefully.

"Take a couple extra blood samples from the kitchen," she yelled out to the CSU team.

For a moment after the scene played out in her head, after his voice disappeared again, she felt the cold undertow of terror start to pull her under. She realized that she would have to tell Alexis that her father was missing, and that she would have to call Martha back from her tour. The urge to hyperventilate was nearly overwhelming – what would she tell them? That Castle had been kidnapped? That he was going to be used for something, then probably killed?

What would thye say to her when she told them it was her fault?

"Hey, Beckett," Ryan started, trotting back over to her, "there's nothing here. We need to let the team do their job and wait for the results. In the meantime, we need to keep looking at Nevorov, get that meeting set up."

"I don't think it'll do any good," she replied. "He couldn't have set this up, which means he didn't have anything to do with Landau's murder. This looks exactly like the style of attack at his apartment. Whoever killed Landau took Castle."

"So…what now? We're dead in the water without Nevorov."

She thought back to the murder board. She thought about that last connection.

"No…there's one more common thread in those cases we haven't talked to yet."

* * *

**/chapter 7**

**

* * *

**

Notes: For this one, let's pretend _Safe and Sound_ by Sheryl Crow matches at least part of it.


	8. Hold On

_I do apologize for the delay. There's lots going on this week._

_I won't call this a bridge chapter...but something I've noticed is that I'm having trouble writing Beckett without Castle. It ends up sounding un-Beckett, which to a certain extent is the goal. We're getting her out of her comfort zone, after all. In any case..._

* * *

**Chapter 8: Hold On**

* * *

There were many things about her job she didn't enjoy. There was the pain she saw a victim's loved ones come into when they realized their father or girlfriend or son was never coming back. It was a pain she'd lived through...and one that she'd meant never to feel again. And there were other things: bullets, stakeouts, long sleepless nights, unruly suspects…all the things that come with a dangerous job. She didn't enjoy any of them, just accepted them as a necessary part of what she had to do. They were familiar hazards in her quests for truth.

But waiting? In her line of work, seconds mattered. For _Castle_, seconds were precious. Every second spent waiting was a wasted second.

She hated waiting most of all.

This latest office lobby was the most functional one she'd been in during the last two days, but it did nothing to quell her resentment. Despite its physical comfort she was, in fact, still _waiting_ outside the office of a man who should be completely invested in helping her _find the friend he put in her life to begin with_.

By the time his assistant called her in, she was so keyed up she jumped a little. It was a short walk to the tall double doors and the man on other side. He had been the Assistant District Attorney on every one of the mafia kidnappings that had gone to court. From there, he'd been elected to District Attorney in 1998. Now he was in a slightly different line of work, but he was still the last person she could ask about those cases. He was still the last person from back then that might have a clue what Landau had found.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mayor. I'm sorry for the short notice."

Mayor Robert Lansing was tall, lean, and grey-haired. As Beckett neared, he smiled and held out his hand. "Not at all, Detective! I'm a fan. Now, what can I do for you?"

It occurred to her that he probably had no idea what was going on. The press had, thankfully, not caught wind of it yet.

She sighed. Everything about this case was something she hated.

"Sir, Richard Castle was kidnapped this morning. We're waiting for CSU to process his loft, but…" she trailed off for a moment. "We have no leads."

For Beckett, that was a hard thing to accept.

The mayor's smile fell immediately, replaced by a look of complete shock. "Rick's missing?" He was quiet for a long moment. "I'm…I'm very sorry to hear that. What can I do to help?"

"We were working on a case…a very convoluted case concerning the murder of a lawyer named George Landau. We think it's connected to the cover-ups of several mafia kidnappings in the early 90's. You were the ADA on those cases…do you remember them?"

His face furrowed as he thought. "Yes," he replied, nodding. "Vaguely. There were a lot of mafia cases back then, and it's been quite some time. Those were the same cases that police officer was convicted of, correct? Planting evidence?"

"Yes sir."

"Yes…I had a brief conversation with Bill Barnett about those cases not two days ago. I'll tell you the same thing I told him – there wasn't any indication the evidence was planted. I never could have convicted the wrong people if the evidence didn't back me up."

The further the conversation went, the further her heart fell. She _needed_ something to go on, and minute by minute the truth was slipping further away. "I understand that, sir…but we need help. We need leads. Do you remember _anything_ about those cases? Maybe something that connects Colin Murphy to Dave McCallister and John Raglan?"

He frowned. "Murphy? SecuriTrust?"

Her heart fluttered. "You know him?"

"I know _of_ him. He did some city contracting a few years ago for a UN event. We had to let him out of that contract."

"Why?"

"His thugs were ruthless. There's personal security, and then there's public harassment. They crossed the line." The mayor grimaced. "We had to handle a few lawsuits."

She thought back to the company brochures and all the services that Castle had read aloud. "I didn't know his company provided personal security services."

"Oh, no, it's not his company." Mayor lansing shook his head waving absently. "It's something he does on a consultation basis. I recall speaking to him once...I think he was in the service before joining your force. He must have black ops contacts. All his personnel needed special clearances, and he had no problem digging them up."

That wasn't what she was hoping for, but somehow the mayor had given her far more ammunition against Colin Murphy than she'd had before. It was enough to consider him an official suspect and get a few warrants for a deeper look. Somewhere in his many holdings, they could find a clue about Lansing's death...if they acted fast enough, they might also find Castle. "Thank you, Sir. You may have just cracked our case wide open."

She shook his hand again and turned to leave, but the Mayor's words stopped her. "Detective? Have you by chance tried Rick's GPS yet?"

She turned back. "His phone was in his apartment. He didn't have it on him."

"Not that one. His security GPS. His personal unit?"

_When did Castle get a GPS tracker? Why?_ "We didn't know he had one."

"He told us at a poker game a few weeks back that he'd gotten one, just in case. Maybe he had it on him when he was taken."

A glimmer of hope rekindled inside her. "Thank you, Sir. You've been a tremendous help."

He smiled at her. "Anytime, Detective. No go catch the son of a bitch that kidnapped my friend."

She was hardly out the door before the boys got a phone call.

"What'd you find out, Beckett?" Ryan sounded as anxious as she felt.

"Castle has a GPS locator."

The voice on the other end of the line sounded hesitant. "Er…no, his phone is turned off."

"No, a personal locator. In case of emergencies. What if he had it with him?"

Ryan was silent for a few moments. "Yeah…yeah! There aren't that many companies that make good ones, and if I know Castle he would have bought the smallest, most reliable one. Something that would work underwater and on the moon"

She could hear him typing in the background. A few minutes later, as she was walking out of City Hall, he'd found it.

"A Trackstick. If he hid that thing well enough they'd never find it. I'm pulling up his account now. Esposito has something, too."

She was almost to her car when Esposito got the receiver. "So get this: SecuriTrust was funded 100% by Colin Murphy when it opened. There's no record of where the cash came from."

"The mayor just told me he has a security consulting business on the side."

Esposito paused. "That makes sense. He makes irregular withdrawals of large amounts of cash. Beckett…some of those deposits are right around all four of the '99 murders, and there's some more recent activity right around when Raglan was shot. Latest one was three days ago for five hundred grand."

Beckett nodded to herself, thinking back. "That's right around Landau's murder."

Ryan pulled the phone back. "Hey, Beckett, you wouldn't know what Castle's password is, would you?"

It took just a moment. "Deep fried twinkie. All one word with an exclamation point at the end."

Ryan went quiet for a second. "How the hell did you know that?"

"Where is he, Ryan?"

Another pause. "A warehouse. 64 Buckner Boulevard."

She was in her car. The lights turned on. "Meet me there, and bring everything we've got."

* * *

She didn't like takedowns in the daylight. Bad guys saw cops coming from a mile away. But she wasn't exactly willing to wait until nightfall, either.

Again, she was waiting. Waiting on a tactical to get there to back her up, praying she wasn't making a mistake by following procedure. Praying she wasn't too late.

As she waited, she had time to _think._

Before Castle, it had never occurred to her that the searing, soul-shattering pain she felt when she lost her mother wasn't unique to having someone ripped away from you forever. Castle had gone missing more than once, and had been placed in life-threatening peril by very dangerous people. She had felt the pressure, the panic, and the guilt every time, but she had been out there to sweep in and save him as he had saved her so many times. He was her white knight, and she filled that role for him right back.

And then they'd been trapped together.

It was a different thing to be helpless. It was a different kind of pain to know that even your own death couldn't save a person you care for. It was harder than losing someone to death to know that their loss is inevitable, and that you are utterly powerless to stop it.

Shehadn't been back on the outside since the bomb and the freezer. The terror she'd always felt when Castle was placed in harm's way was sharper now, and it was only hope keeping the consuming panic at bay.

Hope was but a thin sliver of what it had been now. With every closing lead, she lost another piece.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the team of FBI agents in SWAT gear coming down the street from behind her car. She had parked three blocks away to avoid suspicion. Her team was behind them.

"Detective Beckett?"

She was out of the car, walking toward them. "Yes."

The man before her was decked out in armor. His voice was low and deep. "Ma'am, I've been advised to ask you to bring up the rear with the rest of your team. Have you noticed any unusual activity?"

She'd been there twenty minutes. "Not a single car."

The man nodded. "Very good. We'll take over."

The pace was slow and methodical. They crept down the sidewalk, taking time to look at every possible position before proceeding. There was no noise at all – neither from the clicking of shoes down the sidewalk nor from the teams themselves. It was hand signals and tiptoes. Even the neighborhood had been silenced by a thin blanket of snow.

It seemed like forever before they finally arrived at a run-down, faded blue warehouse. There were many overhead doors, but just one swinging door entrance along the side of it. They approached it cautiously.

Beckett's heart was in her throat. Every beat of her heart made her feel like she had to vomit _and_ swallow.. She couldn't recall ever being so nervous on the job before.

_He has to be in here, _she thought. _He has to be all right._

She glanced over at Esposito and Ryan. Both wore equal amounts of determination on their faces, but as if they could sense her gaze they both turned their heads and graced her with reassuring smiles, as if to reassure her that they would find him, and he would be okay.

The door opened without a sound and they all filed in.

The place was dark, with only a few rays of light coming in from windows on the roof. There were steel columns supporting the structure and a floating ceiling from which the tiles had been removed, but the place was otherwise completely empty.

Empty...except for a single chair.

In the middle of the open room, cast in shadows from the dim daylight, sat a rusted steel chair. On that chair sat the figure of a man in a black coat, his back facing them, his posture slumped.

Her heart started racing. That was _Castle's_ coat.

She rushed a little ahead of the tactical team, focused only on the man in the chair. It was a reckless thing to do, and the commander of the team might have voiced his opinions very loudly...but all she could hear was the rushing of her own blood and the drumming of her own heart.

Her pace increased as, just fifteen feet away, her brain began to register the ugly smell of death.

She knew the man in the chair was dead. That last sliver of hope flickered out, plunging her into darkness. The familiar pain, coupled with guilt the likes of which she'd never felt collapsed in upon her mind, overwhelming her senses. It was all she could do to stay upright and moving as she neared him.

Then the loss settled in. It was heavy, and it was growing. She would be at its complete mercy in a matter of moments_. _Lost…the same way he was lost to her.

_I'm sorry, Castle, _she thought._ I'm sorry I never told you everything._

With a shaking hand, she plucked the GPS tracker, clipped to his lapel. The weight of it all finally brought her to her knees beside the dead man, at face level in the dim light.

She gasped.

It wasn't Castle.

The man had similar characteristics. His beard had been shaved off and his hair had been cut to look like her partner…but it wasn't him.

Hope flared back to life, bringing with it no small amount of blessed relief. She was powerless to stop her tears.

Castle might still be alive. She could still find him. She could still _save_ him.

"It's Oleksandr Nevorov," she called out in a broken voice. She hated the weakness that had forced her voice to crack, but was so overwhelmed she didn't care. She didn't care about any of it. If it meant she could have Castle back…if it meant she had the time to tell him how much she loved him, she would do anything.

But in the back of her mind, something was screaming. She frowned as her brain slowly started to re-engage. Mike Royce's voice flooded her mind with a terrible warning.

"Don't let emotion cloud you actions, Katie. Emotional cops get desperate. Desperate cops get scared. Scared cops get dead."

The FBI team was surrounding her now, and their leader was very upset. She stood, her senses ignited, and for the first time since she spotted the chair took a good look around her.

In the rafters, just hidden in the shadows, were nets of cans. As her brain registered what those cans were, the nets released their contents to the crowd gathered below.

"Grenades!" she yelled, but it was too late.

Her world was suddenly filled with white light, and where there had been the sound of chaos a moment before, now there was only a high-pitched ringing.

_Not grenades, _she thought._ Flashbangs._

She was bumped from the left side, causing her to drop both her gun and the GPS unit. She felt hands on her back, groping blindly. She turned, fumbling back where she thought she'd come from, hoping to find her way out of the crowd.

The groping hands tightened, and something covered her mouth.

Her brain only had time to register the smell of chloroform before her bright world faded to black.

**/ chapter 7**

* * *

Notes: _12_ by Alexi Murdoch is today's music selection.

I wanted to bring up a few things about the details here. First, my decision to write the mayor into the story came knowing that the series doesn't ever mention him by name. It always makes him sound like this mysterious character to me, even thought I know they do that to leave the impression that Castle might actually know Mayor Bloomberg. Problem is, I can't very wekk write fanfiction about a real person. To resolve it, I gave the mayor a fictional name.

I also wanted to comment on something I caught from earlier chapters. One of you mentioned that I was incorrectly assigning a Blackberry to Beckett. I had been under the impression that she had a Blackberry Torch, but as of Countdown it is, indeed, a Palm Pre. I have to mention, though, that Castle switched from an iPhone to a Windows Phone earlier this season, but is back to being the loyal owner of an iPhone 4. So...for the sake of my sanity, let's assume she picks up a new Blackberry because her Pre fritzed out after a day of extreme exposures. Or maybe she just upgrades sometime in the future. Whatever works for you guys.

Chapter 9 coming soon. Buckle up.


	9. Blackout

_Imagine a road in the mountains, very much off the beaten track. Imagine you're in a Jeep. Imagine said jeep at a 45 degree incline on the side of a steep climb with pea gravel underneath its tires._

_Welcome to Chapter 9._

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 9: Blackout**

* * *

The first thing she became aware of was the cold.

The air around her was absolutely frigid, causing prickly goosebumps to sprout on her arms. She was seated on something metal, its iciness seeping through her clothing everywhere she was in contact with it. Every breath hurt her lungs – wherever she was, it was damp as well as freezing.

The second thing she became aware of was sound. She could hear a dull ringing and a muffled, deeper tone. The deeper noise slowly became clearer as the ringing eased away. It sounded like grunting, or muffled speech, and it was sharp and insistent.

The third thing she became aware of was the smell. There was an old, musty smell hijacking the damp, cold air. It smelled like ash, mold, and metal, with just a hint of fuel or acetone.

The last thing she became aware of was the darkness.

At first, she saw dull explosions of light similar to the kind of thing you see when you close your eyes at night. After a few moments, those cleared. She wasn't even sure her eyes were open until the last of those dull light spots focused into a single ray of light off to her left. It was the remnants of daylight coming through what looked like a boarded-up window, and as her eyes continued to adjust, she discovered it cast just enough light in for her to read the outlines of the things in the room.

After a few more seconds, she could tell she was in a basement.

And she could see a man seated in front of her.

"Mrrf?"

The noise was as clear as it would get. It was familiar enough.

"Castle…"

"Mrrf!"

Despite her situation, she felt the rush of blessed relief. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. The feeling of knowing he was alive after fearing the worst for the better part of a day was indescribable, but combined with the terror she felt in that moment at being tied to a chair in a strnage basement, it was a potentially deadly cocktail.

_Desperate cops get scared. Scared cops get dead._

She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and breathed in steadily. When she opened her eyes again, she was in the right frame of mind.

None of it would matter until Castle was free.

Kate could see him more clearly when she opened her eyes again. It looked like he must be seated, probably tied up. The side of her mouth came up in a half-hearted grin.

"I'll guess that, since I'm not gagged and you are, your mouth has already gotten you into trouble."

The noise she received in respond sounded a bit like a sarcasm-laced laugh.

She shivered a bit as the cold continued to get colder. That godforsaken freezer came back to mind, and she wondered if it was their captor's intention to let nature finish the job that freezer had started so long ago. It wasn't nearly as cold, but it didn't have to be. Not for long.

"One grunt for no, two for yes: did Murphy do this?"

Castle's reply was a perfect "Mmm-hmm".

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

He hesitated, then grunted. _No._

Her fingers start feeling around in an attempt to figure out what she was bound with, and if there was anything sharp enough to cut it. The way her wrists stuck together, she had to guess duct tape. After a few seconds of searching, her pinky caught a sharper edge on the chair. Beckett immediately moved her bound hands over to that spot.

"We're gonna get out of here, castle. I promise."

She knew she was on a clock: there was no point to kidnapping the both of them if they weren't needed for something. Murphy would be back down any minute. She had to work fast.

Kate hadn't made much progress before she heard a click somewhere behind her. A second later, light flooded the basement from the stairway behind her, and she got her first look at her friend.

His left eye was swollen, and his mouth was covered with tape. He looked exhausted and a little beaten up, but fine otherwise. The blood they'd found in his apartment was, from her quick inspection, not his.

"Well, Detective…how nice to see you again."

She turned her head to watch Colin Murphy descend the last stair. She could make out some fresh scratches on his face and a large bandage on his forearm_. Good, _she thought,_ maybe he left DNA at Castle's apartment._

"I didn't think you'd have the balls to do this yourself," she said. "You've been so good about hiring others to do your dirty work in the past."

He came to a stop when he was standing in front of her, blocking her view of Castle. He reached up and pulled a cord. Then he slapped her across the face.

Where she could only see darkness moments before, now she could only see light. And stars.

And a very, very angry Colin Murphy.

Somewhere behind the man in front of her, Castle was struggling and yelling.

"Shut up, Asshole, or I'll hit her again."

At the threat of more violence, he stilled. Kate could now add the taste of her own blood to the list of things her senses could pick up - the slap had not been gentle.

Murphy straightened, then walked to her right. "You shouldn't have rattled my cage, Detective."

Her eyes widened as he neared a pile of items. It's an array of sadistic playthings: a tin tub full of water, a car battery, a hose, a few gascans. He reaches down to grab a moderately wide pipe, then fits it over the hose.

"I'm sure this'll be familiar to you. But then, it's a very effective way of getting people to talk."

He walks back to her and pinches her nose closed. She tries to shake her head free of his grasp as he pulls slowly back. Finally, she has no choice but to gasp for air through her mouth.

That's when he shoved the pipe into her mouth and let the water flow.

Even if the pipe were flexible enough to bend, it was too wide to leverage her jaw against. Instead, she gagged on the water, fighting off the inevitable until the very last second until her body took over and inhaled deeply.

The water burned more potently than the cold did, and the need for air matched with the foreign liquid in her lungs set off a horrible, agonizing cycle of coughing and inhaling. In those long moments, she was only vaguely aware of the racket in the background from screeching metal and a loud, terrified grunting. She was mostly aware of how desperately she needed air.

Just when she was sure his intention had been to kill her, after all, the pipe was pulled away. She spent the next several minutes weakly clearing her lungs and gasping for air.

"I need to know what the cops know, Detective."

It took her a moment to catch her breath, to calm herself down. It took her a minute to realize the torture was over. She wasn't dying.

Not yet.

"Go to hell."

Murphy walked back around to face her directly, then squatted down so that they were at eye level with each other. Then he reached out and tilted her chin back up.

"I'll make you a deal, Kate. Can I call you Kate?" He tilted his head to the side, like a gorilla studying an animal it's about to attack. "If you tell me what I need to know, I'll end it quickly. You won't feel a thing."

She took her first clear gulp of air before responding. "There's nothing you can do to me to make me tell you anything."

He sat there for a moment, looking completely unfazed, before he smiled.

It was a cruel kind smile she'd only ever seen on cold-blooded killers.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

She began to mentally prepare herself for more punishment. He lingered a moment, then stood, turned to Castle, and ripped the tape off his mouth.

"Kate! Don't tell him – " His protestations were the pipe's point of entry. In seconds, he was being tortured the same way she had been.

"No! You bastard, he's a civilian! Leave him alone!"

"What, after all you've seen, makes you think I'm not afraid of a little collateral damage? If you want this to end, tell me what I want to know!"

She struggled against her bindings valiantly for a few moments, felt the tape around her wrists give, but not nearly enough. She was desperate for escape. Desperate for a solution.

Castle's gurgling noises and wild thrashing tore at her soul. She couldn't stop the tears from coming any more than she could stop Castle's torture. As he started to weaken, Kate felt the last of her armor crack and fall away, exposing her raw, true self.

She was _desperate._

"Stop! I'll tell you! Just please…please stop…"

He pulled the water hose out of his mouth, and Castle immediately started heaving water. His suffering had broken her heart. It had broken _her_.

And it hadn't taken much.

"Kate…" Castle rasped, desperate to get her attention. "No…"

Murphy lifted the pipe into both his hands, pounding his left palm like a bully with a baseball bat. "Well, Detective?"

She watched Castle carefully as he sputtered and slowly recovered. Murphy grew impatient and pulled his head back by his hear.

"_Well?"_

"We know about your side business." It startled her how weak her voice sounded, how it cracked over almost every word. "We know you've been hiring mercenaries. We know about Oleksandr Nevorov."

She hoped she could be vague without subjecting Castle to more torture.

"What else?"

"I—" she hesitated. They didn't have much – they'd gotten as far as they had almost completely on guesswork.

He yanked Castle's head back again, eliciting a small "ow" from him.

"Who else knows about this, Detective?"

She shook her head. "Please, just let him go."

"_Who knows, Bitch?"_ Murphy punctuated his outburst with a knee to Castle's kidney.

"Everyone. They'll catch you with or without us."

The last part might have been a bluff. She hoped he didn't know that.

Murphy came back to her. He reached out to her face, her cheek, where tears still slipped away. He took one on his index finger, studied it carefully, then smashed his finger and thumb together as if he were squashing a bug.

"She has feelings for you, Castle," he said. "Did you know that?"

She looked over to him out of reflex. He was mostly recovered, but the look on his face…

_Oh, God_.

That bond between partners, the one Ryan and Esposito had…they had it too. They could read each other in a look.

He knew. And he had feelings for her, too.

Murphy reached for his belt and lifted his arm. He'd brought another toy: a short billy club that looked just about the size of the bruise across Castle's face. He reached back and smacked her across the face one more time, causing more ringing I her ears. She heard Castle shout her name, the sharp edge of fear breaking his voice.

This time, she had to fight to stay conscious.

"Everyone knows your story, how your mother's murder steered you into becoming a cop. If you hadn't been wearing it on your sleeve ever since you were a rookie, it's plastered all over your record, and for those who really weren't paying attention the Nikki Heat novels are very explicit."

She coughed a little, still not quite together enough to follow his ranting and formulate appropriately quippy responses.

"So now you know who handled your mother's hit. Now you know how your great quest ends. How do you feel?"

He lowered the club, held it out in front of her lips like that reporter from Vogue had held out her microphone two years ago.

"We know there are more of you."

It was a gamble. She watched his face for an expression, for anything that might betray that she was right. It was a hunch, one she couldn't even articulate yet…but there was something about the way he'd phrased her taunt that made her think she _had_ missed something all along.

And it was so subtle she almost missed it, but she found what she was looking for: a nervous swallow.

"Who do you work for, Murphy? It's not too late to work out a deal. I can't speak for Castle, but if you help us bring them down _I_ won't press charges. I just care about the truth."

She didn't dare glance away, even if she wanted to read Castle's reaction. She stared up at the ex-cop in equal measure for the way he glared down at her.

He never responded. Instead, he took the club and stepped back, swinging as he went. When he stepped forward again, the club connected viciously with her stomach.

"Never gonna happen, Detective. You'll never touch my brothers."

Despite her exhaustion, despite the torture, and despite the lingering danger, she spat her words at him with all the feral power half a lifetime of pain could deliver. "I'm gonna take you down you smug son of a bitch. All of you. I'll rip you off your pedestal and deliver you straight to hell."

His eyes widened a bit in shock, as so many eyes did when she delivered such heartfelt promises, buthe recovered too quickly. She knew she wasn't in a position to deliver such threats.

And so did he.

"You can go ahead. I'll catch up later."

The club fiercely collided with her right side. She tried not to cry out, and was successful for the first two tries, but on the third hit she felt bone shatter, and every blow after caused deeper damage and jagged agony. Her world was condensed into bitter flavors of hurt. She could only dimly hear the Castle-shaped sounds of shouting through her own.

Murphy stopped suddenly. He grabbed her chin roughly and forced her to look into his eyes.

"You're going to die down here, Detective. And I lied – it won't be quick. There's no white knight out there that can save you now."

He turned off the light, reducing the sources of illumination to just the light from the cellar door. Her vision tunneled out, then flared back into color, then tunneled out again in time with her heartbeat. She knew she had to stay awake, but with every heartbeat her field of vision grew darker. She could hear Castle's terror-laced shouting.

Through her clouded vision, she watched Murphy grab the gas cans and start pouring them out on the floor. When he was finished, a new source of light flared alive: he held up a single match.

She jerked in her chair one last time. The tape came loose, and her hands came free.

A second later, Colin Murphy dropped the match.

Where their world had been darkness, suddenly there was light.

The fire wasted no time spreading across the floor, burning the surface of the still-spreading gasoline. It grew bigger, burned hotter, and continued its slow approach toward their tied feet.

"Beckett!" Castle screamed, jumping in his chair, inching toward her. "Kate!"

He watched her hand come loose, falling to her side for just a second before it slowly started working on the tape around her chest.

"Come on, Beckett! You can do it!"

He glanced over at the fire, growing closer every minute.

"But…maybe you could do it faster!"

She looked up at him. Despite the fact that there was a nasty-looking bruise developing over her left eye, she was still glaring daggers at him. Nonetheless, she managed to free herself, then stumbled over to free him. Once she got his hands, he helped with the rest.

By the time he stood up, she was falling back down.

"No, Kate. Stay with me!" He reached out to steady her.

"M'okay," she mumbled.

He knew better.

"Come on. The window. We'll use the window."

He half-helped, half-draged her over to the boarded-over slit in the wall and quickly yanks the boards away with strength he didn't know he had. He used the last of the plank to pull in what was left of the rotted window frame, causing the leftover glass to break on the basement floor. It was small, just big enough for someone to squeeze through. He lifted her up, pushed her through it, and then looks up at her.

She wasn't in any shape to pull him through that window…and he wasn't in any shape to fit through it.

"Listen, Kate, go on. Get out of here."

Her reply was weak, but firm. "Not without you."

He smiled up at her sadly. "We both know I can't fit through that window."

She gets up and limps away. For a second, his heart fell. He was prepared to die for her, but…maybe he was expecting a little more protest.

Off to the side, he heard creaking wood. The fire was in the house - the building would start collapsing any minute.

But then he hears Beckett's voice through a new, dim lightsource.

"Can you fit through this?"

In the far corner, there had been an outside entrance to the basement. They couldn't see it before – there hadn't been enough light.

He looked behind him: the fire had grown.

There was enough light now.

"Yup," he replied as he ran for the door.

When he gets outside, the world is different than it was her he woke up that morning. First, it was a lot colder. Second, there was snow everywhere.

He found Beckett crumpled in the snow, taking shallow, panting breaths. He'd watched how brutally Murphy had taken his shots, and knew that the ribs on her left side were very likely in a million pieces. Carefully, he picked her up again, wincing in sympathy when he heard her gasp. "I'm sorry, Kate," he whispered, "but we need to get out of here."

They rounded the back corner of the smoldering house, making it out into the side yard. Castle stopped their pace when he saw Murphy make a beeline for a waiting car. He was furious that the man would get away, but that mattered less than the woman in his arms. _Let him get away, _he thought_. It's not like we don't know who did this._

But Colin Murphy took one last look back at the house and spotted them. Then he got out of the car.

Castle started backpedaling, but there wasn't any easy way to do that with such an injured Beckett. Air was a luxury, and her lungs were running out of currency.

His efforts were finally halted when he heard the click of a cocking gun.

"You're like cockroaches," Murphy spat. "All of you! If you would just stop coming out of hiding and invading those cases, you'd all still be alive! And you, Detective…you just inherited the title of queen from your bitch of a mother! Why can't you just _die?"_

She can't respond: she might have wanted to, but her legs had given out and she'd collapsed to the ground a word or two into his rant. He knelt down in front of her and blocked her body from the bullet trajectory, then turned around to see her one last time.

Her agony couldn't be hidden, but she was reaching upward toward his face. He caught her hand and kissed it.

"Castle…"

The sound of a gunshot echoes through the silent night.

But they were still alive.

He turned. Colin Murphy was still standing, still holding the gun out, but there was a strange look on his face. Seconds later, he fell over, eyes still open.

They never blinked again.

Esposito came across the front yard, gun pointed at the still ex-cop. A few seconds later, after checking the man's pulse, he called out the all-clear and came barreling down the side yard.

"We need an ambulance!" he called out. "Kate's hurt!"

Ryan rounded the corner next, yelling into his walkie for assistance.

Castle turned back to Beckett. Her eyes were fluttering.

"Hey, Becket…we're safe. Stay with us."

He pulled her into is arms, steadying her against his body before she keeled over completely.

"Paramedics are around the corner, Bro," Esposito said, sliding into place in the snow.

"How did you find us?"

Ryan landed at Castle's other side. "Your GPS unit. It led us to a warehouse. We found Nevorov in it."

"We thought it was you for a while, Bro. I think Beckett did, too. She took off in front of the tac team."

"Your GPS tracker was clipped to the lapel of…um…_your _coat. Beckett picked it up…but then we were hit with flashbangs. When we all recovered, Beckett was gone."

"It wasn't 'till later we realized the GPS unit was gone, too."

Ryan finished the story. "it made no sense for the bad guy to run off with it again, so we figured Beckett must have slipped it into her pocket or something. We hacked back into your account, and it led us straight here."

Castle frowned. "My GPS unit? How did you-"

A rattling from Beckett drew his attention away. He shook her.

"Kate? Stay with us. You have to stay awake."

He tipped her head back, and it came over easily. Her eyes were barely open.

"Kate…come on. Fight. You have to stay with me."

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Then, her eyes finished closing.

He cradled her head in his arm, pressed it against his chest, and dropped his chin on top. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall.

"Stay with me, Kate. Stay with me. Please…"

He dropped his lips to the crown of her head and left a kiss there.

"Please…don't leave me…"

He could hear the ambulance behind him, the soft patter of boots running toward him in the snow. He could hear Ryan and Esposito shouting.

But only the precious thing in his arms mattered. Only Beckett mattered.

And she was no longer breathing.

**/chapter 9**

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Notes: Another one of my favorites, _The Little Things Give You Away_ by Linkin Park, was absolutely made for this chapter.

One thing to note: the mayor's new name is Robert...because I apparently forgot about that episode. That's the only edit to Chapter 8 I made.

And yes, I'm aware this was an evil thing to do. Keep in mind there are still three chapters left...at least. Some interesting research has got me thinking about the direction of this story, and I'm not sure how long it'll take to resolve these new facts with my storyline.

One way or the other? With three chapters left, nobody died in this one.

_Yet._


	10. Light

_Okay...I apologize for the very evil author's note in the last chapter. I just couldn't resist._

* * *

**Chapter 10: Light**

* * *

There was nothing to do but wait.

He'd taken the events of the last few days back into his mind, adding the details he'd missed during his abduction. As he sat in the waiting room, and later planted at Kate's bedside, he let them roll around in his imagination over and over, like a rock tumbler polishing stones. Minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days. The tumbler kept running.

On the third day, his friend the mayor invited him to a poker game. Those around him had insisted he take the opportunity to get out of the hospital.

He hated waiting, anyway.

After an evening of half-hearted cards, Castle found himself standing in the mayor's residential office. He occupied himself by studying the titles on the built-in bookshelves, and took periodic sips of his glass of very nice scotch. His eyes stopped on a collection of familiar books – clearly, he had a bigger fan in the mayor than the man had ever let on.

"So, Rick…how are you, really? Nobody expected you to be happy in there tonight, but you lived up to our expectations a little too well."

Castle turned to his friend and shrugged. He'd lost quite a bit of money that evening, and he was most decidedly preoccupied. Despite himself, he smiled a little as he delivered his response. "I'm fine."

"Like hell."

He took another sip of his scotch before walking over to a seat. "It's…rough. I don't understand what would motivate someone to do to another person what Murphy did to Kate."

He couldn't bring himself to use her last name, as he so often did when referring to her. Beckett was invincible. Beckett was a force of nature. The woman he'd cradled so carefully in the snow was _not_ Beckett – somewhere in the midst of their case, that persona had peeled away.

Beckett could be rebuilt, but _Kate_ had to be healed first.

The older man nodded. "Bad things happen to good people, Rick. It's all we can do to move forward." He finished his remark by taking a swig of his own drink.

Castle was underselling his state of mind, as well as hiding his motivations for being there. He hadn't slept in three days. If he stopped thinking long enough, or even closed his eyes, the memories of Kate's overly-brutal beating at Colin Murphy's hand seized his mind and played on endless repeat. That memory was worse than any torture he had received.

It was a miracle that she survived at all, but then she had been placed in a medical coma after her surgery…

"Do the doctors have a prognosis? When do they expect Detective Beckett to wake up?"

His answer was the same answer he'd been repeating for days. "They have no idea."

The mayor grunted slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Rick. She's in my thoughts and prayers."

Castle took another sip, letting the other man's offered warmth slip by him. Thinking about Kate was agony – his thoughts were elsewhere. "I've been going over the case in my head you know? Just for something to do. I still can't figure out how Colin Murphy got so involved in all this."

"Is it still a question whether or not he was involved in the original murder?"

Castle shook his head. "No…no, there's enough of a similarity between my kidnapping and George Landau's murder that it's pretty obvious who did it. It's just his motive that doesn't sound right."

"Fear is always a powerful motivator. Both you and Mr. Landau had met with him, correct?"

"Yeah." Castle paused, remembering some of those polished stones. "You were the ADA that prosecuted those kidnaping cases, right?"

"Yes," the mayor responded, "I know it's evidence that I prosecuted but, like I told Detective Beckett, I had no way of knowing it was all planted."

"No, I know that. It's just that there are still some questions, and…maybe you can help me work through them."

The other man shrugged. "Sure, Rick…shoot."

Like a child with a marble collection, he mentally organized his facts by importance. "Well," he started, "there's the matter of the ransom money….what evidence, if any, was there on that?"

"Truth be told, we never had any. We didn't need it. But then, those cops would have used it for something. Seed money for Murphy's company?"

The writer nodded. "Yes…we think part of it went to fund his company. There's just still so much of it missing…"

"Maybe they're in offshore accounts. That's what I would have done."

Castle smiled grimly. "Yeah, me too. None have come up yet though."

"Well, you'll find a trail eventually. They all leave trails. What else?"

"McCallum's testimony. It made it sound like there was someone really scary out there. What do you remember about the mob bosses back then? Is there anyone still around they could be connected to?"

"Hmm…maybe." The mayor put his scotch down and rubbed his chin with a large, dark hand. "That's a better question for our DA, but there are a few still around. I can't imagine why they would be involved…but it's a theory, I guess. You don't think Murphy masterminded it?"

"I think he executed it. I'm not sure he's devious enough to have masterminded it."

"Says the man he kidnapped."

Castle gave the man another mirthless smile. "Touche."

They sat in silence for a little while. It had been a long week, and Castle was beyond exhausted, but he had one shiny pebble in his head, the ugliest of them all, and yet the one that couldn't be ignored.

"How did you know to tell Beckett about that GPS tracker?"

Bob Lansing's hand, midway to his lips with his glass of scotch, stilled for the briefest of moments. "You told me about it. You told all of us about it at poker a few weeks ago. Don't you remember?"

Castle shook his head and leaned forward. As he did, his heart started pounding against his chest. "I remember we made jokes about them. I remember you said 'it would be highly paranoid of someone to carry around an electronic leash.' I remember Patterson reminding the group that cell phones are traceable so long as they're on. And then I remember the conversation ending."

The other man frowned for a moment. "Now, Rick-"

"We joked about GPS trackers, Bob, but I never gave an indication that I was going to buy one. I didn't even decide to until the day before Landau was murdered, and _never _got a chance to tell anyone about it. The only person that knew about it was the person that set that trap for Beckett."

The other man's face went blank. He'd seen it before. It was the same look the then-DA had used during a debate. The opponent had suggested he might have gang ties. Castle and anyone else with a brain had written it off as a racial slur, and Bob had won by a landslide.

Now, Castle realized there had been a grain of truth in the other candidate's words.

"No, Rick, you told us. You told me you'd—"

"Save it." His eyes were dark, his voice was sharp. Anger, an unfamiliar yet welcome feeling, surged through his veins and flooded his mind. "You're neck deep in all of this. All this time, I considered you a good man—"

"Rick, come on, you know better than—"

"_You sent Kate into a trap to save your own ass."_

The words escaped Castle's mouth through clenched teeth, taking with them the venom and contempt he felt towards the man that had put Kate in danger. The mayor was quiet for a long moment. His face had fallen from that trademark campaign mask into a more remorseful, more genuine set of lines.

"Rick…you don't understand."

"Your name is all over those kidnapping case files. You prosecuted them all. And the '99 murders? You were DA back then. You handled them _personally _as far as they would go, because if Coonan had messed up, if any loose ends existed, you needed to tie them up quickly before the world learned about your little secret."

"I didn't have a choice!"

"It _all_ comes back to you. Bill called you to talk about the old cases when Landau had concerns. He called you again when we came knocking. You've been pulling strings this whole time.

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me _how_ I'm wrong."

For a while, Castle didn't think he would answer. The anger still boiled below the surface, moving like a living parasite within his chest. Finally, just as Castle was about to give into that thing that had been bothering him all night and let the creature loose, the man across from him spoke again.

"I don't pull any strings, Rick."

"Who does?"

"I don't know."

Castle got to his feet and walked straight up to the man he'd once called a friend. "Beckett nearly died because of you, Bob. Do you expect me to take that as an answer?"

"I really don't know, Rick! I sent Beckett to that GPS unit because I was told to."

"You're the mayor of New York City…you're telling me you're on someone's _payroll_? That's bullshit!"

The other man looked down and pursed his lips. "Look…Rick, back then I made a mistake. I took money under the table to write those kidnapping cases off. I was younger and stupid, and I didn't think it was hurting anyone to kidnap a bunch of mafia street thugs. The evidence looked good enough and the defenders never made any noise. Years later, after I'd already been elected DA, Murphy blackmailed me into sweeping some more murders under the rug. He's been using my mistake as leverage for years. He called just before Detective Beckett got here and told me to give her that hint about the GPS."

When the man looked up, Castle could see shame in his eyes. It didn't make him any less furious, but he realized in that moment that his anger was slightly misdirected. Bob Lansing was not the man responsible for Johanna Beckett's murder.

"Rick…I made a mistake, one I've been paying for over the last twelve years. I'm just glad you're safe. I'm glad she found you."

Castle didn't cut his glare off.

"I'm sorry she's hurt. I know what she means to you."

Castle was quiet for a long moment. The man before him looked genuinely ashamed. "Where's the head of the dragon, Bob?"

"Honestly, Rick…I don't know. I really don't know. But even if you find the head, the rest of it will come after you."

He frowned. "Rest of it?"

"Best I can tell, this is a well-placed, well-funded network of people. If you can ever figure out who ordered Johanna Beckett's death, that'll be one part of a very large whole." The mayor shook his head.

"Drop this, Rick. This is too big."

"The FBI Is involved now, Bob."

"Fine," he conceded. "Let them handle it. Get out. Get out now."

"I can't do that."

"Get her out, too. Dammit, I didn't want you involved, and I didn't want to send her to you, but I'd hoped she could get you out. She did."

"And look where it got her, Bob. Tell me how this all worked out well for her?"

He was silent long enough. Castle knew he'd gotten his point across.

"I'll never give up on this. Beckett will pull through, and she'll recover, and I will be by her side for as long as it takes to find them all and make them pay. And if she doesn't…then whoever 'the rest of them' are will never be safe, because I'll personally bring them down. For Joe. For Johanna. And most of all, for her."

The mayor took a deep swig of his scotch as Castle turned to leave.

"Hey, Rick?"

He stopped.

"You were a great friend…so as a friend, let me tell you this. Tell her how you feel. Now. Before it's too late."

The now-simmering anger came up a little. "Is that a threat?"

"No…it's a warning. What you do to them, they're fully capable of giving back in equal measure. You'll have to destroy them first. There are a lot more of them than there are the two of you."

Castle shook his head. "It's not just the two of us anymore." He cast one last look at the man he'd known for so long, and it wasn't lost on him how broken and ashamed the man he'd called friend for so long looked.

"Goodbye, Bob."

He left the mansion, heading to his car. There was a black SUV in the driveway just behind his Ferrari. He stopped off at the passenger window.

The tinted window rolled down to reveal Special Agent Jordan Shaw.

Those ideas rattling around in his head had been polished to perfection with help: the boys had moved their base of operations into Beckett's hospital room, and Jordan had requested reassignment to the FBI's branch of their case. She'd brought technological toys to their makeshift bullpen, much to the doctors' dismay. They'd all gone through the events, evidence, and facts.

On the third day, when the mayor invited him to a poker game, Castle hadn't left the hospital because he needed to get away. He'd left the hospital to participate in an FBI sting.

He removed the earpiece and yanked the microphone out of his shirt pocket. "Did you get all that?"

Agent Shaw nodded her auburn head. "Every word."

"Okay," Castle said, more relieved than he thought he should be. "Now what?"

Jordan looked up at the Gracie Mansion with a slight look of amusement. "I think his Honor and I should have a long chat." She turned her gaze back to him. "And I think you should go back to Beckett."

He wasn't in the mood to disagree. With a tired wave, he wandered back to his car and climbed in.

He arrived back at the hospital after a short drive. Nobody asked who he was or told him visiting hours were over…in the last three days, they'd all learned to recognize him. They found it sweet that he spent so much time with his comatose muse.

He walked into Beckett's room and shut the door quietly behind him. He crept over to his regular, uncomfortable chair by her bedside and sat down heavily, slouching his body over to look at the floor.

There had been a lot of people in his life, people he'd trusted, that had managed to betray him. In the end, he supposed, it was at least fortunate that Robert Lansing had been ashamed of his actions. It didn't matter now - this particular ruined friendship would have some far-reaching consequences.

"Castle?"

He looked up at the familiar voice and smiled. "Hey Kate. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I wasn't really asleep," she replied. Castle wasn't a fan of those dark circles under her eyes – she hadn't been sleeping well, even with medication. "How did it go?"

What none of those hospital employees were aware of was that Kate had come out of her medically-induced coma when she was supposed to. What nobody realized was that she had been one of the people that had polished his theories. They'd kept that information on a need-to-know basis because they'd suspected what Mayor Lansing had all but confirmed.

"We were right. This runs deep."

Kate closed her eyes. He wished she'd sleep. From the moment she'd woken up again, she'd been back on the case. The doctor had kept her as medicated as he dared, but she insisted that they keep her in the loop. To appease her – or, really, to settle her down - they set up shop in her room so that she could have something to think about when she was awake.

Castle suspected that, much like him, she needed a puzzle to work out while conscious. Something – _anything_—to think about besides the pain and memories. She'd helped him take his theories and spin them into stories.

What he'd come to realize in those three days was that he didn't want to spin his stories without her ever again.

"Does he know where it ends? Does he know who they are?"

Castle shook his head. "No."

She sighed. "Then we're back to square one."

"No," he said, reaching out for her hand, "We're not at square one. We solved George Landau's murder. We know it's a network."

"What about Joe? For that matter, what about Lockwood and Nevorov?"

He sighed. "We've found another puzzle piece, Kate. And we have help now. The FBI is picking this up, and you know the guys are not going to let this rest. You're not alone anymore, Kate. _We're_ not alone."

Kate nodded. She was silent for a long moment.

"I never meant to involve you in this, Castle. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Hey," he started, squeezing her hand, "there's no place I'd rather be."

"You have Alexis." She replied. "You have a family to worry about."

"You're part of my family, Kate."

He could see that moment in her eyes, that moment where her brain stopped spinning. All the events of the last five days came crashing in on her at once like a high storm surge crashes against a rocky shore. Her eyes flooded with tears, and at once sobs wracked her body.

He came up and wrapped his arms around her. She curled into his shoulder immediately, still sobbing. He winced, knowing it must hurt like hell to cry the way she was with three broken ribs.

"It's okay. It's all okay. I'm here."

The woman in his arms wasn't the Beckett he knew. This woman had been stripped down by her ordeal, ripped free of every carefully constructed emotional wall she'd ever built, laid bare as just Kate, a broken woman.

He cradled her closer as her sobs began to subside. He pressed a kiss into her temple.

"I'll be here for you Kate," he whispered. "Always."

She settled soon enough and fell asleep. He followed not long after, still holding her close.

For the first time in several nights, they both slept well.

**/chapter 10**

**

* * *

**Notes: Let's go with _Stranger Things Have Happened_ by the Foo Fighters for this one.


	11. The Final Toll

_This story ended up going in a different direction than I'd expected. Remember that outline I mentioned in Chapter 1? Everything after Chapter 8 got completely reworked. If you were curious, it's what's caused the update delays._

_I'm not positive I like where this story ultimately went, but as stories will, it sort of demanded this path. Pitched a fit like a five year old and everything. It wasn't pretty. There were words everywhere. Have you ever tried to clean up word vomit? It's not freaking possible._

_There's one more chapter, and it's already done. I'll post it tomorrow. Hope you guys enjoy this one in the meantime._

* * *

**Chapter 11: The Final Toll**

* * *

"So this is what we know."

Jordan Shaw stood at the front of the small hospital room, moving images around on her miniature smart board to help illustrate her points. Assembled around her were Ryan, Esposito, and Captain Montgomery.

Castle sat beside Beckett, who was still confined to her bed by doctor's orders. Kate was grateful that this would be her last day in the hospital – they were going to quietly upgrade her status and sneak her out the back door.

"We know that Colin Murphy was responsible for George Landau's murder, as well as your kidnappings." She gestured toward the bed, then continued. "We know, through his bank records, that he contracted Oleksandr Nevorov frequently. We know Nevorov had Hal Lockwood on his payroll. And we know that Robert Lansing has been blackmailed by Murphy for years. We know that neither Nevorov nor Murphy had the skillset to plant the bomb in Joe Pulgatti's apartment.

"You all know my team is being reassigned to this task force. What you didn't know is that the FBI has long suspected that there may be a very deep-rooted criminal organization in this city. _I _didn't even know that until last night. Stumbling over Colin Murphy's involvement during the course of your investigation may have broken _our_ case wide open. You uncovered more evidence of that criminal underground in two days than the Bureau had uncovered in over a decade."

Jordan threw some new pictures up on the smart board before she continued.

"We think Murphy was responsible for Nevorov's murder. We also think he may have been the strong arm of a greater collective of people. We think that Colin Murphy arranged the deaths of four people in 1999, but we don't think he ordered them. During the course of our conversation last night, the mayor assured me he'd been not-so-subtly nudged to do Murphy's bidding by a handful of other influential people. Other than the fact that we have their names, we have nothing else on them."

Kate glanced over to Castle, whose hand was just beside her own. He looked sad, but so much better than he had in the last few days. The black eye that had developed after his encounter in the basement hadn't quite faded yet, but it would eventually. It would leave his ruggedly handsome face mostly untainted.

She wasn't quite so lucky.

There would be rehabilitation time for her. She would need to let her broken bones heal completely before Montgomery would let her come back to regular duty. Until then, she would be riding a desk at best and sending the boys off to do the heavy lifting.

Ordinarily, she wouldn't be involved in this case at all. Department policy frowned on letting convalescing cops get back into work so soon, especially when something deemed a "psychological trauma" is involved. Thankfully, everyone involved had agreed that letting her wallow in her misery was going to get her nowhere, that returning her to something stable would help her recover. Thus, the semi-regular occurrence of a status briefing in her hospital room.

"What we don't know," Jordan continued, "is who was really behind Joe Pulgatti's murder. We don't know who planted the bomb. We don't know if Murphy used Oleksandr Nevorov in 1999 to contract Dick Coonan. And we don't know if Coonan was just a hitman or a central figure to that greater collective.

"We still don't know who is ultimately moving the chess pieces around. We don't know why this organization was formed. We have no idea how deep this rabbit hole goes."

"So what happens next?"

The question had come from Kevin, who had been standing with his hands in his pockets at the foot of Kate's bed like a bouncer. No, Kate thought, that description didn't fit him well. He was more like a palace guard, diligently protecting his superior officer.

Javier was the bouncer, standing on the other side with his weight shifted on his left foot, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Yeah," he added, "if there's a chessmaster out there, we need some moves."

Jordan's lips curled in a half-smile. "Well…my team and I will work continuously on this case. We'll root out whatever we can and coordinate with your team. Given your history with these cases, I think you all deserve to be part of it. We'll take them down together."

Castle cleared his throat. "Where do we start?"

The half-smirk faded a little off Agent Shaw's face. "Well, my team and Ryan and Esposito will go through the list we got from Lansing. But…in my professional opinion, Beckett needs to stay under the radar for a while. I suggest you do, too."

"What? No! We can help. We'll stay out of the way, but let us keep working on this case! I—"

"Castle."

Kate grabbed his hand tightly. His face, when it turned back to her, looked stricken. "Kate…I can help. _We_ can help."

Over the two days she'd been awake, she'd put up a valiant effort toward being productive. She'd refused to let up on the case, refused to let them work on it without her, and had even contributed to tying the loose ends together.

But last night, the last traces of the life she'd known had crumbled. A week ago, even a day ago, she would have fought tooth and nail, just like Castle, to be included on this case at all costs. Now, she was sore and tired.

She was touched that he was as invested in the truth as she was. It was another endearing quality on a list of things to love about him.

"Agent Shaw is right."

His face shifted. She wasn't sure what to make of the expression, somewhere between betrayal and guilt. Her fingers laced inside his, and she hoped that he could divine her motives through that simple gesture. Finally, his face slackened.

"How long?" he finally asked.

It was Montgomery that answered. "I don't want to see her in the office for at least three weeks."

"Will you at least keep us up to date?"

"You got it, Bro," Esposito replied. "Just, uh…you know. Stay put."

His eyes hadn't moved from her face for the entire exchange. She smiled at him.

"Well, you'll need help with those ribs of yours. Maybe we could go to the Hamptons? Mother is cutting her tour short – she's due back today. She can mind Alexis for a while."

Her breath caught just a little as she recalled that summer, such a distant memory, and how she had turned him down. "Sounds great," she replied, giving him the answer he deserved the last time he'd asked.

"Well then," Jordan interjected, "I guess that's settled. We'll clear out of here and see about getting Beckett discharged."

The doctor wandered in a few minutes later, prepping her for what would be expected during her recovery. He warned her to seek immediate medical attention if any number of symptoms presented themselves, wrote several prescriptions for industrial-strength painkillers and anti-inflammatories, and left mumbling something about cops thinking they were superhuman.

Lanie had taken the liberty of gathering easy to change clothes from her apartment several days earlier, her years of medical school and subsequent training telling her there was no way Kate would be able to manage her injuries by herself. Castle had long since moved his essentials into the hospital. They left right away.

An hour and a half later, Kate watched the passing trees as they drove to the edge of Long Island and listened to the pleasant silence. Her hand slipped back into Castle's, but she didn't turn away from the window to watch his reaction. He hesitated a moment before gently squeezing her hand, warming her entire body through that simple gesture. Her smile reflected back at her, superimposed over the passing white-dusted evergreens.

Castle's "house" was a waterfront mansion with a sprawling lawn. The interior was well-appointed and classically upscale. He'd arranged for everything ahead of time – there was even a fire going in the house's massive hearth when they arrived.

It was in front of that fire, on the couch, that they spent the rest of the afternoon. She was curled comfortably into a mess of pillows and his side and he was finishing a glass of wine when he finally broke their peaceful silence.

"Why did you agree to leave?"

She knew he'd ask eventually. He wanted to stay, to fight. Part of her wanted to, as well. It was that same part that had fought so valiantly to find her mother's killer for so long, that refused to give up.

But she'd learned something about herself in the last few days. She'd learned how much she'd come to rely on the man next to her. She had realized how much she cared for him, and needed him in her life. She also came to realize how far he'd go for her.

His absence had ripped her apart. It was enough to learn a very important lesson.

She looked away from the fire, out the bay windows over the green lawn. The sun had just started peeking out from behind the clouds again after a week-long absence, and was gracing the earth with the dazzling colors of sunset.

"Do you ever wonder how the earth feels when the sunlight is gone?"

She felt him turn his head. "What?"

"The earth needs sunlight. Without it, plants don't grow, flowers don't bloom. Life just…stops."

Out in the distance, on the horizon over the water, she could see the last of the darkest storm clouds as they passed away from the coast.

"I thought I knew what that felt like. I thought the light had left the day my mom died. I was wrong."

"Kate…" Uncharacteristically, he seemed to struggle to find words.

"Did I ever tell you that your books helped me through? That reading them was a refuge from that pain I felt in her absence? I don't think I ever did.

"You've been the light in my life for a long time, Rick. I need you to know that."

"Kate…I'm here. We're safe. Nothing's going to change that."

She smiled. "You can't promise that in my line of work, especially not with this case. I want you there for _all_ the important things. I still want you there when I find the person that had my mother killed, but I won't sacrifice you for it. This case has already killed so many. _You_ are more important to me."

His hand gently reached out for her chin. She felt a familiar heat spread from the point of contact, and it grew when he gently placed his lips over hers.

When he pulled back, that look in his blue eyes, the one she was never able to completely identify, was stronger and brighter than ever. She knew what he'd say before his lips even parted, because she finally understood exactly what that look meant.

"I love you, Kate."

She smiled, snuggling into his shoulder. "We'll dive back in when we're both ready. We'll find them. _Together_."

Wrapped in his warmth, she felt like she was exactly where she belonged.

"Rick?"

"Hmm?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I love you, too."

**/chapter 11**

* * *

Notes: My song list got just as jacked up by the end of this story as my outline, but _Weightless_ by Black Lab seems to taste good with this one. I'll warn you that while the song is not explicit, the cover art is.


	12. Brighter Days

**Chapter 12: Brighter Days**

* * *

It had been a nightmare of a case.

Their leads had been thin at best, the body count was astronomical, and the personal cost to his officers was beginning to stack up. That they'd gotten as far as they had was due mostly to mistakes made by the bad guys rather than the skills of the good guys, and that was a disturbing trend.

Roy wasn't the type of person to overlook serendipity when it's granted, though. He knew there was a force at work greater than he could understand, and that force has smiled on his team.

Kate Beckett should be dead. She had met that place that all officers fear, that crossroads between life and death they come to when their own mistakes lead them off path. Without fail, he had never seen an officer take the right road. He had never seen a cop live to learn that fatal lesson. They always died first.

But then, it wouldn't be fair to say the same person returned to the 12th as left the day Richard Castle was kidnapped. The woman that came back three weeks later was fundamentally different. She was warmer, vulnerable in a way he'd never seen her. He imagined the armor, the walls…all the barriers she placed between herself and the rest of the world hadn't quite been rebuilt yet, but it made her a more complete person. He'd always known she was a warm and compassionate person, but it was a side of her she had always kept under tight control. Now, she welcomed her friends and the support they gave her, and thanked them for it with a genuine smile instead of a shy one.

This was the woman who had let Castle in. _Finally._

His continued presence continued to heal her, as did the support of the rest of her team. They'd been a family before, but it was a tighter family now.

They tried valiantly to hide it, but the change was hard to miss. It worried him a little that the two were partners and lovers. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, really. And if it had been anyone else, he would probably put a stop to it. But Beckett was happy with him – well, when he wasn't being annoying or doing something wrong. He was better about that. He was more careful, probably thanks to her influence. Roy had no doubt the department's insurance underwriters would thank her for that one day.

Beckett had been back a little over three weeks, Castle for a little over 10 days. Beckett was rebuilding her armor piece by piece, but the woman underneath was fundamentally different. That would make all the difference in the world as they faced their next challenges.

Montgomery looked out his office window into the bullpen. Ryan, Esposito, and Lanie were all gathered around Beckett's desk. Castle was in his usual seat beside it. Beckett was leaning back in her seat.

They were all laughing.

"Hey," he called, poking his head outside his office, "don't you people have a case to solve?" The muttered "yes sirs" were immediate, but everyone walked away with smiles on their faces. He saw Beckett glance over at Castle and watched her smile change into something meant only for him.

Yes, Rick Castle was still Kate Beckett's weakness…but he was also her strength.

Together, they could move mountains.

Together, they would slay a dragon.

* * *

Final Notes: Take this chapter with a dose of _Auto Rock_ by Mogwai.

I think it's fairly obvious that this ending leaves room for sequels. That wasn't actually my intention. I was going to have the mayor be behind it all, but it just wasn't working. So...instead of killing all those characters off for a purpose, I ended up leaving more questions than answers. That'll be a mistake I'll probably end up revisiting sometime soon...but now that this thing is written, it's my hope that I won't be as distracted for a while.

I hope you enjoyed it.


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